


Brothel Boy

by JJ1564



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Decapitation, Drugged Dean, Evil Sam Winchester, Hand Jobs, Hurt Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Possessive Sam Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 18:39:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 81,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2358170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJ1564/pseuds/JJ1564
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a slightly AU, Dean has been missing for three years and Sam finally finds him in a government run brothel. Is Sam too late to save his brother, and does he even want to?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very dark fic, Sam isn't totally evil but he isn't exactly good either!
> 
> This first chapter isn't beta'd so all mistakes are my own. Comments, feedback, corrections are always very welcome.
> 
> I would like to thank my betas dizzojay and somersault j for all their help and guidance.
> 
> I do not own the characters of Sam, Dean or any of the other characters mentioned, and I will not profit from using them here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have edited this chapter slightly as it wasn't beta'd. I am in the process of making a master-list for this fic on LJ and have had a beautiful banner created for me by amberdreams. I will try to add it on to here.

Sam followed the smart, well-spoken woman through the clean white corridors. He hadn't expected the brothel to be like this; he had expected it to be seedy and dirty, but it was state-run, so it had that bland, white, anonymous feel of any government institution.

The tip off had been a good one, and he hoped he would find his brother here; at the same time he hoped with all his heart that Dean wasn’t one of the Brothel Boys.

The woman unlocked a door and stood back to let Sam enter. The room was small, clean and white, and in the center a slim, naked man knelt, his head bowed. Sam swallowed down a bout of nausea. This could not be his big brother, not kneeling here like a cheap whore.

“Wh-what’s his name?” Sam asked, trying to stop himself from shaking.

“William,” the woman replied, adding, “William, eyes up!”

The man lifted his face, looking at her and then at Sam. Sam’s knees almost gave way when he saw familiar green eyes, full lips and freckles, but the dazed look was not familiar. He knew that the Boys were kept drugged, to keep them compliant and unresistant, but Dean was completely out of it and there was no hint of recognition on his face.

“William is our most beautiful Boy. His oral skills are exemplary…”

Sam really didn’t want to know how good Dean was at sucking dick. “How long has…William been here?”

“Um, longer than I’ve worked here, let me see,” she glanced at her clipboard, “since 2005, that would be three years,”

Sam’s vision swam at the news. The whole time Dean had been missing, presumed dead, he had been here, being used as a government-owned sex slave. All that time Sam had looked for him whenever he could, between classes at Stanford and weekends away with Jess, but now he wished he had given up everything to have looked for Dean, for now it seemed he was too late.

“William, lips,” the woman commanded.

Dean smiled shyly at Sam and opened his mouth, running his perfect pink tongue slowly along his top lip, then over the bottom one, before biting it gently and then smiling again at Sam.

Shit, he had known his brother was handsome, beautiful even, but seeing him like this, he was stunning. It was so degrading to treat any human being like this, but Sam was hard, and if Dean hadn’t been his brother…

' _No one knows, they think he’s William, even Dean doesn’t know_ …'

“Fuck…” Sam hissed.

“I told you he has great oral skills." The woman responded. "Imagine those lips wrapped around your…” 

“Okay, I’m satisfied with my choice, thanks,” Sam dismissed the woman, who gave him a knowing smirk as she left. Sam locked the door and turned back to Dean.

“Dean! Hey, dude, it’s me!” Sam knelt down opposite his brother, whispering so that the built-in camera wouldn’t pick up what he said.

Dean smiled at him, not registering his own name at all. He reached out for Sam’s zipper and Sam batted his hand away, making Dean frown slightly.

_'Just let him…no one will know…he wants it too…look at those lips…'_

“I’m your brother Dean, I’m Sam, Sammy,” Sam used the nickname he hated - but that Dean always liked to use - in the hopes of reaching him, “Please say something! C’mon, you have to remember!”

Dean just looked at Sam patiently; his expression was almost serene and Sam wanted to shake him, slap him, anything to get a reaction. He raised his hands again towards Sam’s fly and this time Sam let him undo them. He knew he would have to pretend to be a client to avoid suspicion. He gasped as Dean’s skillful hands pulled down his clothing and released his dick. _'Fuck, this is wrong; he’s my brother…God that feels so good…'_

“I’m going to get you out of here, but it’s not gonna be easy,” Sam whispered, pleased they were closer now. “It’s run like a prison, so I’ve got to think of a way. I’ll visit you again to try to work out an escape route…oh God!” Dean’s hands had his dick already leaking and hard. Dean stopped and looked at Sam, running that perfect pink tongue over his lips again. His meaning was clear.

_'I can’t do this, he’s Dean, not some whore, but oh God, his mouth…his fucking mouth…'_

Sam stood up, his legs shaking and Dean immediately gripped his dick, starting to lick the tip and around the head, his huge green eyes looking up at Sam all the while.

“Shut…shut your eyes, D…William, don’t look at me.” Sam instructed, as Dean continued to caress and suckle him. Dean closed his eyes and his long eyelashes fanned against his cheeks; he looked blissful like this, like this was all he wanted in this world, to suck a stranger’s dick.

Sam was torn between letting him continue and pushing him off. _'How many times has he done this? And more? How many men?'_ Sam grabbed Dean’s head and pulled him away. Dean looked surprised and almost hurt, but he knelt back, and awaited Sam’s instructions.

“J-just with your h-hands, this time,” Sam stuttered. Dean started to caress him, closing his eyes again. _'_

_So there’s going to be a next time? He’s my brother! I can’t….but no one knows…no one will ever know…'_

Sam was so hard and ready it only took a few strokes for him to come. He expected Dean to move away, but instead he leaned in closer and let Sam’s come hit his face, right over his mouth, nose and cheeks. Then he licked his lips again, with that blissful, serene look still on his face, and Sam wanted to slap him.

_'Slap him, push him down, turn him over and…'_

He grabbed Dean’s shoulders and shook him, “Snap out of it!” he hissed, as much to himself as to his brother, “Dean! C’mon!”

Dean just looked scared and his eyes darted around the room. A voice spoke over the intercom, “Your package is only for a blow job. If you want to beat the Boy, it will cost $500.00 more,”

Sam released Dean and turned away, unable to bear either the look of fear on his face or the knowledge that other men had paid to beat him.

“I’m done, let me out!” Sam shouted, desperate to get out now, away from this drugged up, spaced out version of his brother.

The door opened automatically and Sam ran to the nearest washroom, falling to his knees in front of the toilet and vomiting everything he had eaten that day into the toilet bowl.

The woman was waiting outside, looking concerned. “Are you alright Mr Smith? Did William not perform adequately?”

“I’m fine, William was…great…I just haven’t ever…” Sam replied, thinking ' _but oh God help me, I want to again…and again.'_

“It’s alright, sir, you haven’t been here before and it can be overwhelming." The woman reassured him; "You should know that the Boys are happy and content to serve,”

“Only because they are drugged!” Sam said before he could stop himself.

“Well, yes, but you know they have the choice between prison or brothel." She retorted. "William chose his path, and will serve just half the term of his sentence,”

Sam wondered why Dean had chosen to become a Brothel Boy. Prison would have been hell for Dean; he would have been abused and raped, but he would have had more chance to escape and at least been lucid. Although being a Brothel Boy halved their sentence, the men who survived were often unable to adjust back to normal life; they were addicted to the cocktail of drugs they had been pumped full of, and often ended up homeless, or working the streets, sometimes choosing to end their own lives.

Just then a short, sweating fat man in an expensive suit that looked cheap on him waddled towards them.

“Good afternoon Judge Harris,” the woman said, piling on the charm, “How are you today?”

“Afternoon, sweetheart, I’ll be just fine once my favourite Boy has his lips around my dick!” He chuckled, and then he winked at Sam; “best day of my life when William appeared in my court room.”

Sam felt his fists tighten reflexively and he walked away before he punched the odious man. That would explain it; the judge had seen Dean, had wanted him, and had arranged for Dean to ‘choose’ the Brothel. Sam was even more determined to get Dean out, and his mind feverishly hatched plans as he walked back to his car.

He checked into a local motel, ate at the diner nearby, and then spent a sleepless night thinking of Dean. Dean’s mouth on his dick, Dean’s tongue licking his lips, Dean’s face as he had looked up at him, how content and serene he had been until Sam had shaken him. Sam felt enraged when he recalled seeing several faint bruises on Dean’s wrists, along with long thin scars across his chest and shoulders, which Sam knew were from being whipped. He had to get Dean out of there.

Sam did more research into how Brothel Boys were treated and what drugs they were given. He hatched a plan to rescue Dean, smiling at the thought of having a compliant, serene, blissed-out Dean at his feet, sucking his dick. Of having Dean ride him and the noises that sinful mouth would make as Sam thrust into him, and of having Dean all to himself. He knew it was too late to save Dean, but if anyone was going to use those lips and that body, it was going to be him. He knew he was heading down a dark road, but he loved Dean and he would do anything to take care of him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam comes up with a plan to rescue Dean from The Brothel. He visits 'William' again to scope the building and to use those lips once more...

Sam needed to run through his plan to get Dean out of The Brothel and, although he didn’t want to involve anyone else, he had to call Bobby Singer. He had to let him know about Dean anyway. Sam knew he should let his dad know too, but the sad truth was that Bobby had been more of a father to them over the years than John, who had let his obsession in finding the thing that killed their mom drive a huge wedge between him and his sons.

Sam hadn’t spoken to his dad since leaving ‘home’ - or whatever dingy motel room it had been at the time - to go to Stanford. He knew from Bobby that his dad had been searching for Dean between hunts, but much to Bobby’s vexation, they never spoke to each other, not even to join forces for Dean.

Bobby was relieved to hear that Sam had found Dean, but shocked, too. He listened to his plan to set a fire in the basement of The Brothel. Bobby suggested that Sam should bribe one of the orderlies to bring Dean to him during the evacuation, which would buy Sam enough time to set the fire and get out. It was a risky plan, but neither of them had been able to come up with anything better.

“Let me come with you, kid. You could use the back up.” Bobby offered.

“No, I’ll handle it, Bobby. If I get caught, Dean will need you to help him, there’s no one else,” Sam had explained. If the worst happened and Sam was captured, there was no way he was leaving Dean in that place.

“What about your daddy? I know you two ain’t exactly on good terms, but he should know…”

“No!” Sam said more forcefully than he intended, “Sorry, it’s just, well, how Dean is, what he’s done… he wouldn’t want Dad to see him like it, would he?”

“I guess you’re right. But if I hear from John I gotta tell him, Sam.”

“Don’t you have his number?”

“Nope. Last one I had’s been cut off. I heard he was up in Seattle checking out some coven a few weeks ago, but nothing since,” Bobby sighed, “He should know his son’s alive.”

Sam laughed wryly. “As if he gives a shit!”

“Watch your mouth, boy! He does care about you, both of you, you know that!”

“Sorry, Bobby. I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“Sam, just get Dean out of that hell-hole and bring him here, okay?”

“I’m gonna take care of him Bobby, just me. He’s mine – my brother and I need to do this, Bobby. Thanks for your help, I’ll call you.”

Sam had hung up before Bobby could protest and he hoped Bobby hadn’t picked up on the way he’d said ‘he’s mine’ – he had covered it quickly with ‘my brother’ but Bobby was no fool. Sam was relieved that Bobby had lost contact with John, as he really didn’t want his dad turning up. He told himself it was because Dean would hate for his dad to know where he had been for the past three years, and to see him broken and used, but he knew that the real reason was that he wanted Dean to himself. He couldn’t get the image of the way Dean had licked his lips out of his mind. He wanted to taste them, to feel them around his dick, to push that slim body to the ground and…

Sam sighed and palmed his growing erection. He knew he would jerk off later in bed thinking of Dean’s lips, but right now he had work to do. His first job was to visit the Brothel again and find a suitable candidate to bribe, also a suitable location to set the fire. He waited until it was almost dark to pay his visit and was shown straight to Dean’s room by a young male orderly. The official-looking woman was nowhere in sight.

Once again Dean was kneeling on the floor, naked and with his hands clasped loosely behind his back. He didn’t look up until the orderly spoke.

“William, head up,” the man said.

Dean lifted his head slowly and smiled at the orderly, then at Sam. There was still no hint of recognition in his eyes.

“You can go now.” Sam said and the man nodded briefly before leaving.

Dean swayed gently as he licked his lips and smiled almost innocently at Sam. Sam had to try one more time, had to see if his brother was still in there before he went too far.

He knelt down opposite Dean and whispered “Dean? Hey, Dean, it’s me, it’s Sam; do you know me?”

Dean stared blankly at him, his smile replaced by a little frown of confusion and Sam sighed, reaching out to stroke Dean’s cheek. Dean leaned into the touch, smiling again. Sam knew they were being watched so he had to play along.

‘ _You just want to use him; don’t fucking lie to yourself.’_

“Um, William, lips,” Sam said, his voice soft and low.

Dean slowly parted his lips and let his tongue slip out into the left corner, tracing his top lip, then his bottom lip. He bit his bottom lip as he looked at Sam expectantly.  
Sam stood up and Dean moved his hands around to undo Sam’s jeans.

_'This is wrong, stop it now…but look at those lips…and look how much he wants this…fuck, he’s getting hard…’_

Dean hesitated, waiting for Sam to command him and Sam nodded, then added “Um, hands first then tongue,” remembering that ‘William’ was trained to respond to simple orders. Sam pushed down the unsettling thought about what that training had involved. He had read about electric shock treatment and other forms of ‘disciplining’ used on the Boys, which were basically torture. But he couldn’t change the past, he couldn't make what had happened to Dean disappear. He would avenge his brother and he would look after him. For now he would let Dean – William – do what he was trained to do, what he wanted to do – ‘ _just look at him, oh holy shit he’s so fucking good at this…_ ’

Dean was rubbing Sam’s hard dick, stroking it, caressing it, all the time his eyes were looking up to Sam, his lips were parted slowly and if he hadn’t been drugged Sam could believe he was a willing partner, that he really did want this, that he really was enjoying giving his brother a hand job.

Dean lowered his head and his perfect pink tongue licked the tip of Sam’s dick. ‘ _This is so wrong, oh God, I need to stop it now, but I can’t, he’s so fucking good, oh God…_ ’  
Sam’s hips bucked forward and Dean took it as his cue to step it up, licking the underneath of Sam’s long, thick dick, holding the base with his hand, lavishing all his considerable skill and attention on it. Dean groaned in pleasure as Sam grew impossibly harder and then moved his head back, looking up at Sam provocatively, his mouth was open and, oh holy fuck, he was licking those sinful lips again!

Sam grabbed Dean’s chin and he looked startled. “Enough teasing, you fucking slut! Do it!” Sam didn’t know what made him use such language but Dean didn’t seem to be bothered by it, he simply gave a little shrug and opened his mouth wide, letting Sam shove his dick inside and taking it down, so far down Sam was surprised he didn’t gag or choke or even pass out. No one had ever taken so much, not even Jess and she was awesome at blow jobs.

_'He’s a natural, meant for this; see how he takes it so easily?’_

Sam came in a disappointingly short time; he so wanted to stay lodged in the warmth of his big brother’s throat forever, but he pulled out knowing this was just the first of many times. Dean looked a little dazed as he gulped in air and tried to stay upright. Lifting Dean up, Sam guided him onto the bed and Dean smiled sleepily at him.

“Um, thank you. Thanks, William,” Sam said and Dean smiled wider. “You did a good job.”

_‘_ _Shut the fuck up and get out, you don’t need to thank him or strike up a conversation!’_

“Time’s up sir.” a tinny voice came over the intercom and Sam cursed inwardly. He didn’t want to leave Dean alone, he wanted to wrap him in his arms and carry him out of this hell. He squatted down next to Dean, who looked mildly surprised.

“Dean, I’m going to get you out of here, I promise,” Sam whispered and stroked Dean’s cheek.

Dean gave him another vacant smile and tried to stifle a huge yawn, making Sam chuckle. Sam had to resist the impulse to kiss that perfect mouth and he rushed out of the room.

_'Not long now, and those lips will be mine. No one else will ever touch you, I’m gonna look after you big bro, I’m gonna love you, because you’re mine.’_

The orderly was waiting to escort him out; Sam decided to strike up a conversation to see if he would be a suitable accomplice in getting Dean away from the Brothel.

“Where’s the woman…I think her name was Ms Davies?” Sam asked.

“She don’t work late shifts. An’ she usually just meets first-time clients. This is your second visit ain’t it?” The guy asked as Sam read his name badge.

“Yeah. You worked here long, Joe?”

“Nah, only a few weeks; place gives me the creeps to be honest. The Boys are like fucking zombies, seems wrong…” he hesitated, aware he had said too much, “Sorry, not my place to criticize.”

“It’s okay, I don’t much like it myself,” Sam leaned in closer, keeping his voice low; “I need to ask your help with something.” He pulled out the roll of notes from his pocket and flashed the cash.

“Sure, I’m on break in fifteen minutes; I’ll meet you outside the main entrance.”

Sam sat on a bench outside the entrance, waiting nervously for Joe. When he arrived he sat next to Sam and pulled out a packet of cigarettes.

“Smoke?”

“No thanks, I don’t.” Sam watched the man light up.

“So, you want my help?”

“Yeah, um, the man I visited, William, he’s my brother.”

“No shit!” Joe sounded genuinely shocked.

“And I need to get him out,” Sam continued, “I’m going to start a fire as a distraction, but I’ll need someone to get De…William out, and I thought you might be interested?” Sam showed the roll of cash again.

“That’s real tough, dude. You know he’s drugged off his face doncha? And getting him off ain’t gonna be easy...”

“Yes, I know all that!” Sam said testily, “but if it was your brother on his knees every fucking day to a stream of men, what would you do?”

“I’d get him out,” Joe took a drag of his cigarette then nodded, “Okay, I’m in. I hate this fucking place, an’ I’m only doing this job for the money.”

Sam gave a sigh of relief and thanked Joe, then took his number to make further arrangements. He drove away with a satisfied grin on his face.

_‘Not long now Dean and you’re mine.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say a big thanks to youdbefuntomurder and others here and on LJ who asked for Brothel Boy to be continued. It was only meant to be a one-off but your encouragement and support has given me inspiration!
> 
> And massive thanks to my betas for helping me with this chapter xx


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam recalls an unhappy childhood memory as he finalizes his plan to rescue Dean and regrets not looking harder for him. Sam's rescue mission goes ahead.

Sam lay in bed that night thinking about Dean and going over his plan to rescue his brother. Sam thought about Dean’s childhood ambition to be a firefighter, which seemed ironic now. Dean had told Sam, as they had told each other everything as children; but he had never told their father. 

It was a stormy Wednesday evening and they had been in Stillwater, Oklahoma for a couple of weeks when it happened. Sam couldn’t recall what creature his dad had been hunting at the time, but he remembered being pleased to be settled in a school for a short time. Their dad had even rented a small house rather than a motel room.

Dean brought home a booklet entitled ‘So You Want to be a Firefighter’ and paced the tiny kitchen as he worried about how to tell his dad. He was sixteen and a lot of focus at school was on planning ahead and choosing careers. When John came in and immediately scowled at the booklet on the kitchen table, Sam knew things weren't going to go well for Dean.

“What the fuck is this? You already have a job! You have a fucking calling!” Dad had growled at Dean.

“I know, but I thought once we got the thing that killed mom I could…” Dean tried to reason with their dad.

“You could what? Just stop hunting and be Joe Average with some nice apple pie life?”

Dean looked uncomfortable and squirmed under their father’s glare. “Well, I…”

“There’s no other life for you! This is your life; the family business, saving people, hunting things. You wanna be the big hero? Then do the fucking job you’re trained for.”

Sam was watching warily from his seat at the kitchen table; he had given up trying to do his homework and was unsure whether to intervene or not. He knew Dean should just quit, say ‘yessir’ and drop it, but sometimes his big brother was just plain dumb or stubborn, or both.

“Well, at least firefighters get to wear a cool uniform!” Dean retorted.

On another day John might have just yelled at Dean for being a smart ass. He might even have hidden a grin at Dean’s sassiness. Not today though. John’s moods were mercurial and depended on how much he’d had to drink and how well the current hunt was going. John had already been drinking and he grabbed Dean by his over-shirt and slammed him hard against the wall, knocking the wind from Dean’s body.

“You little piece of shit!” John roared. He was holding Dean against the wall by the shoulder with one hand and punched Dean in the stomach with the other.

“Dad, don’t,” Sam cried out but his dad was too angry to stop now.

“You know what’s out there in the dark;” Another punch to his stomach made Dean grunt in pain, “you know some evil fucker killed your mother! And you make a joke of it? You think it’s funny?” 

“Dad, please,” Dean gasped; his face was pale from the pain, “I’m sorry…”

Sam knew Dean was in big trouble when John ignored his pleas and punched him in the face, snapping Dean’s head back. John was usually careful to avoid touching Dean’s face, where people could see the damage.

“Shut your fucking smart mouth!” John was about to land another punch when Sam jumped up and grabbed his dad’s arm. But at twelve, Sam was still fairly small and scrawny; John shook him off easily.

“Dad, please stop.” Sam sobbed in despair.

“Go to your room, boy,” John growled.

“Sammy, please just go,” Dean managed to gasp, and Sam knew that the fear he saw in his brother’s wide green eyes wasn’t for himself, but for Sam. John had never laid a finger on Sam, as Dean always got between them and often took the punishment intended for Sam. So he nodded to Dean and wiped his tears away.

“Dad, please don’t hurt him anymore,” he pleaded and was relieved to see John’s body relax slightly.

“Sammy, go to your room.” John sighed and Sam thought he had got through to his dad, but as he left the room he heard a dull thud and a groan from Dean. He ran upstairs and threw himself on his bed, sobbing angrily at himself for being a coward and at his dad for being a vicious bastard.

Dean didn’t go back to school in Stillwater, so he didn’t have to explain his broken nose, bruised ribs and fractured wrist to his teachers. He never mentioned becoming a firefighter again. Sam had expected a similar eruption from his dad several years later when Sam told him he was going to Stanford. 

John had yelled, cussed and threatened but he hadn’t touched Sam. Sam liked to think it was because he was much taller than his old man then, but he also knew he had carefully chosen a time when John was sober. And in a twisted place somewhere deep inside, Sam was a little jealous, because the lack of fury meant his dad didn’t care about him as much as he did about Dean. Dad would never let Dean give up hunting, because he valued and needed Dean. He obviously didn’t need or value Sam. Hell, his dad’s last words to him when he left were ‘don’t ever come back’. 

 

Sam eventually fell asleep and woke up early feeling wired and anxious. He went for a long run and as his feet pounded the pavement his mind was on Dean again. Dean had looked so lost and vulnerable on the day Sam left “home”. It was the first time Sam had ever felt stronger than Dean and, although Sam loved his brother, it was good to be in control for once. 

“Come with me, Dean.” Sam had said again, knowing the answer would be no.

“Nah, can’t see me at Stanford, Sammy, not unless I can take classes in playing poker and hustling pool. I’d ace those subjects.” Dean had given Sam his bright smile, the one that charmed most people because they didn’t know it was all fake. 

“You shouldn't do that Dean.” Sam had sighed.

“What?”

“Pretend to be stupid; you’re smarter than me.” 

“Yep, I’m a regular Einstein!” Dean had chuckled wryly; “look, don’t worry about me, Sammy. I’m fine.”

 

So Sam had gone to Stanford, met Jess and fell in love with her and with academia. Sam hadn’t had time to worry about Dean, as he had immersed himself in his new life and in those first months he spoke to Dean only twice and Bobby once. Then Bobby rang to tell him Dean was missing and Sam felt a stab of guilt. He should have kept track of Dean; known where he was and what he was doing. He had assumed he was working with their dad and that he was safe; well, as safe as any hunter could be. 

Sam ran back to the motel, wishing he had tried harder to find Dean, knowing he should have done so much more to find him. Three years he had been gone, three years in that place. Sam showered and thought of lots of creative ways to make the judge who had claimed “William” pay. Then he spent the day going over his plan, running through it again with Joe over the phone. He forced himself to eat at the local diner although his stomach was in knots. He thought again of Dean and his love of cheeseburgers and apple pie. And his love of sucking dick, the way he licks his lips, it’s better than apple pie for him now.

“Can I get you anything else, sir?” The waitress asked him, repeating herself as he had zoned out completely. 

“Oh, sorry, um just a coffee and the check, thanks.” Sam blushed as he realized his had got a hard-on while thinking of Dean. 

 

Sam got to The Brothel much earlier than he needed to and parked at the very edge of the visitor’s car park, adjacent to the staff car park and under some low-hanging trees. He sat drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, trying not to think of Dean’s lips; he needed to be focused. When it was almost the arranged time, he made his way cautiously across to the main building and down a flight of external stairs to the basement fire door, which Joe had left open. Sam pushed it gently and it creaked open. He was in, now to set the fire and get the hell out. He glanced at his watch and it was almost 1.30 am, time to get going.

There were heaps of old files in a steel cage that really were an awful fire hazard, and Sam added a little splash of gasoline to them, then lit a match and waited until the papers had caught fire to depart. By the time he had got outside the fire alarm was blaring and he crouched behind a big black Cadillac in the staff car park as all hell broke loose. From his vantage point he watched as people started to stream out of the building. He could hear the sounds of panicked voices and shouts to calm down, to get out and to move away. Smoke was pouring out from the basement and Sam was impressed by how quickly the fire had caught. 

Then he grew alarmed, because Dean’s room was on the third floor; what if Joe couldn’t get him out in time? Hell, what if the fire actually hurt people, even killed someone? Sam knew the fire service would respond quickly as the station was just a few blocks away, but he was still very relieved to hear the sounds of the sirens.

Then he saw Joe carrying Dean out over his shoulder and he headed towards them, screened from the crowd of evacuees by the arrival of several fire engines. Sam helped Joe carry Dean over to his car and opened the back door so they could lay Dean down.

“Is he okay?” Sam had expected Dean to be a little out of it but not unconscious.

“I gave him a sleeping pill, thought it would be easier to get him out. Look, I gotta go, man, they’ll be looking for me. Good luck.”

“Thanks Joe, you too.” Sam handed Joe the cash and drove away as fast as he could. He half-expected to hear sirens following him, but the fire had done the job. Everyone was so focused on tackling the blaze and keeping safe that a lone car driving away had gone unnoticed.

 

Sam had rented a remote cabin in some woodland about 30 miles from The Brothel. He had stocked it up with provisions, laid salt lines and painted wards on the walls and doors. Sam turned on the radio as he drove to the cabin and found a local channel. The Brothel blaze was the main news story and thankfully no one had been injured or killed, but not all inmates had been accounted for. 

Dean whimpered softly in his sleep from the back seat. Sam wondered if he was dreaming and what his dreams were about. He shuddered; it was probably best not to know. 'He’s dreaming of sucking dicks and licking the come from his lips'. Sam smiled at the thought of those lips around his dick. 'Mine all mine, every fucking inch of you, Dean. Oh the things I’m gonna do to you…'


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam takes Dean to the cabin where both of them have to learn to adjust to their new surroundings and their new relationship.

Getting Dean out of the car when they arrived at the cabin proved tricky. He was still fast asleep and although Sam shook him and slapped his face gently there was no response. Eventually, Sam was left with no option but to drag his brother out of the car and then hoist him up on his shoulder. He was surprised at how light Dean was and how easy it was to carry him up the three steps to the porch, then through the door into the cabin. He stifled a giggle at the absurd thought that it was like carrying his new bride over the threshold of their new home. God, he was losing it.

The cabin was all on one level, so Sam made his way through to the bedroom and laid Dean gently on the double bed. Dean shifted a little and gave a small sigh as Sam covered him with a blanket. Standing back, Sam looked down at his big brother. Dean had always looked younger when he slept, and right now he looked even younger than Sam, despite the dark circles under his eyes. 

Sam stretched his aching shoulders as he watched Dean sleeping. You could take him now, he wouldn’t even know. Sam shook his head to clear it and forced himself to move. He was hungry and thirsty, and he needed to get some sleep too.

He heated up tinned soup, wolfing it down with two huge slices of bread, drank a beer and watched the news on the small television. The Brothel fire was mentioned but there was no more information yet to add to what he had heard earlier on the radio. After he ate he rang Bobby and left a short message on his voice-mail – “I retrieved the package. All good.”

When Sam went back into the bedroom, Dean had rolled onto his side and was curled into a fetal position. Seeing his brother sleeping this way hit Sam like a punch in the gut. Dean always used to sleep sprawled over the bed, arms and legs spread out, often on his front like a starfish. The only time Sam had seen Dean lying in this position had been when he was either wounded or sick.

“Holy shit, what the hell did they do to you, Dean?” Sam said as he wiped away hot angry tears. “I’m so sorry; I should have found you sooner.” He sat down on the bed and stroked Dean’s hair. “I’m going to take care of you now, big bro. I’m going to protect you and make those bastards pay.”

Taking off his jeans and shirt, Sam climbed onto the bed next to Dean, pulling him into his arms. Dean whimpered in his sleep and struggled a little but soon settled in Sam’s embrace, his head resting on Sam’s shoulder. Sam smiled and kissed the top of Dean’s head. “I gotcha, no one’s ever gonna hurt you again.” 'Except me, and that’ll be okay because I love you.'

 

“Please, please!” Dean’s frantic voice roused Sam. It was light in the small bedroom and Dean was still wrapped in Sam’s arms but he was shaking and sobbing.

“Hey, Dean, it’s alright.” Sam rubbed Dean’s back and wiped his tears with his free hand, but Dean just shook his head and sobbed harder. “Dean, hey, look at me,” Sam shifted, propping Dean up against the pillows so he could look at him. “It’s okay, you’re safe.”

Dean’s eyes were red-rimmed, so he had been crying for some time and he looked terrified. His eyes darted around the bedroom and he started to make a noise that was half sob and half wail.

“Dean, don’t cry, you’re safe, it’s okay,” Sam realized Dean wasn’t taking in anything he heard. He was panicking and Sam had to act quickly before he hyperventilated. “Stop it!” He yelled and shook Dean gently by the shoulder.

“Please, sir!” Dean wailed and he started to try to pull away from Sam, only managing to fall off of the bed, hitting his head on the bedside table. Sam scrambled off the bed and gently cradled Dean’s head. He was bleeding from a small cut over his left eyebrow and screamed as Sam tried to wipe the blood with the edge of the sheet.

“Dean, hold still!” Sam yelled, then realized he was handling this wrong. “William, stop!”

The effect was instantaneous. Dean stopped screaming, stopped sobbing, even his shaking body started to relax. He peered at Sam in confusion.

“Good boy. William, kneel.” Sam said softly and Dean complied. “Good. Now I’m going to clean your wound and get you some pills.”

Sam stood up and went to move away but Dean grabbed his hand. “Please,” Dean begged, licking his lips and rocking his hips slightly. Dean’s intention was clear and Sam was stunned; how could his frightened, injured brother want to blow him, right now? 

Dean’s hands were already tugging at Sam’s boxers and when Sam pushed him away, Dean looked hurt. 'See how much he wants it, all the time, it’s what he does. What he’s trained for. Are you going to be cruel and deny him?'

“No, William, wait!” Sam commanded and Dean knelt back on his heels, head bowed. Now Sam could see that Dean was rock hard and his own morning wood stiffened at the sight. “Oh fuck! Look, you’re bleeding and I need to see to your wound; just wait here. Um, William, wait.”

Dean stayed where he was, head bowed, blood dripping from his brow onto the rug beneath him. Sam rushed out to the bathroom and grabbed two towels, wetting the smaller one before returning to find Dean in exactly the same position, swaying a little. He lifted Dean back onto the bed so that he could begin his work.

“William, head up,” Sam instructed and Dean raised his head. His eyes looked dazed and Sam gave a sigh. He would have to deal with his morning wood himself as Dean was either concussed or still in panic-mode, probably a little of both. He wiped away the blood and inspected the cut, it wasn’t too deep so he dried it off and found some Band-Aids in his duffel, sticking the largest one he could find over the wound. “Okay, that’s all good now. You need to eat something, Dean, and take your meds. Then you can rest while I take care of some business.”

Green eyes stared at him blankly. He realized he may as well be speaking Klingon for all that Dean understood; he had to remember to just give him short commands. 'Yeah, like suck, lick, kneel, beg…'

“William, sit,” Sam pushed Dean gently so that he was sitting up with his back propped against the pillows; “now wait.”

Sam made some toast and coffee for them both and carried it back on a tray, with a glass of water and a handful of meds for Dean. He had found out from Joe the list of drugs his brother was hooked on and had managed to obtain them from a lucrative black market. It seemed that when Brothel Boys were released, they received no after-care and had to either go cold turkey or get the drugs their bodies craved illegally. Most chose the easier option to keep on the drugs, a cocktail of sedatives and Viagra.

“Here you go,” Dean didn’t even look up as Sam spoke; “William, food.” His eyes found Sam and he gave a tired smile. “You must be starving.”

Sam placed the tray on the table and handed Dean a mug of coffee. Dean frowned and gasped as the hot liquid sloshed over his hand. His nose wrinkled at the smell and the familiar look of confusion crossed his face.

“Crap, don’t tell me you never had coffee there?” Sam took the mug away again and gave Dean the water instead. Dean stared at it and licked his dry lips. “Go ahead; shit, this is gonna be hard work.” Sam sighed and then added, “William, drink.”

Dean sipped the water, and then gulped it down so fast he choked a little which made him belch. Sam chuckled, “easy dude!” 

Dean grinned at him and Sam’s stomach flipped. Fuck, his brother was so beautiful, even when he was red from choking and had a huge Band-Aid on his forehead. Sam leaned over and caught Dean’s chin in his hand, holding him still while he kissed him softly.

Dean sighed and Sam’s dick twitched. Hear that sigh? He’s so fucking ready. Sam moved back and shoved the plate of toast in Dean’s hand. “William, eat!” He said, too harshly. He wanted nothing more than to push Dean down and kiss him, to have Dean’s lips around his dick, but he had work to do and Dean needed to rest.

Dean ate the toast slowly and Sam watched his tongue shoot out to catch the crumbs when he finished. “Fuck, you’re so tempting, but I am going to pay your friend the Judge a visit.” Vacant eyes looked at him. “I’m going to get him to pay for what he did to you Dean. Dean? Hey, can you even understand a word I say?”

Dean frowned and bowed his head. “William, look up!” Dean’s head moved up in response. “Okay,” Sam continued, “I don’t know if you can understand, but I’m going to have to leave you here a few hours. I’m going to give you your meds so you’ll be out of it for most of the time, but I’m gonna have to tie you to the bed, just in case you freak out and try to run away. Okay?”

Dean just stared at him. Sam sighed again and handed Dean the pot of pills. “William, meds.” Dean opened his mouth and tipped the whole lot down his throat. He swallowed hard and Sam handed him his coffee “William, drink.”

Dean swigged the coffee down and spluttered and wrinkled his nose again in distaste. Then he sipped it again and his features changed into a smile.

“Wow, you remember coffee?” Sam said. “That’s good, I suppose. You always loved your shot of caffeine in the morning. Now we’d better get you to use the bathroom and wash up then we can settle you on the bed.”

Dean started to shake again and looked anxiously at the unfamiliar surroundings as Sam guided him through to the bathroom, where he ran the shower to get it to a decent temperature while Dean stood by the toilet and squirmed.

“What are you waiting for, dude?” Sam asked, puzzled, “holy crap, I can’t believe this. William, pee.”

Dean gave a sigh of relief as he pulled out his dick and started to pee, but Sam was trembling with rage at the thought of Dean being denied even this simple dignity. Dean finished and waited for his next instruction. . “William, undress.” Sam commanded. Dean turned to look at Sam and cowered in fear; a sight that made Sam so angry that he couldn’t conceal it. “No, don’t be scared,” he reassured; “I won’t hurt you. It’s not you I’m mad at.”

Dean removed his top and trousers and Sam was mesmerized by the sight of his slim but toned body, the freckles across his shoulders and chest, the faint scars that criss-crossed his skin and the bruising left around his arms and neck from a recent client. Sam reached out and ran his hand over Dean’s chest and then up to his neck. Dean was breathing heavily now and Sam knew he was scared. He also knew how to make Dean feel better. 'Yes, tell yourself this is for Dean’s benefit, as if you won’t enjoy every second.'

“William, kneel.” Sam instructed. Dean sank to his knees and now he was back in his familiar role, his breathing calmed down. He looked up at Sam expectantly. “Um…oh fuck… William lips.”

Dean smiled at Sam then licked his lips and reached out his hands, Sam moved in so that Dean could reach his boxers and when Dean pulled them down this time he didn’t resist. He leant against the shower wall, heedless of the water now spraying his left side, as Dean started to caress his hard dick and then lick it. Sam gasped out commands “William, suck!” and “William, faster!” and soon he was shooting his load down Dean’s throat.

Dean pulled off looking dazed and happy, licking those fucking lips again. “William, up.” Sam pulled him onto his feet and pushed him against the wall under the shower. He ran his hand down Dean’s body until he grasped his rock hard dick, watching as Dean’s mouth opened in surprise. Dean shuddered as Sam jerked him off, his breathing grew heavy, his dick started to leak pre-come; and it wasn’t long before he was moaning in pained pleasure.

Sam wondered why it was taking so long when he knew Dean was more than ready; then it hit him again. He had complete control over his brother’s body. Holy shit; this was wrong, but awesome too. 'Fuck, he really is mine, all mine.' ”William, come!” he growled and Dean’s body went rigid as he shot his load over Sam’s hands and stomach. Immediately afterward, Dean’s knees buckled and Sam had to grab his shoulders to keep him upright. He looked completely out of it now, his eyes were unfocused and he was lax in Sam’s arms.

Showering them both, Sam wrapped Dean in the largest towel he could find and carried him back to the bed.

Dean was asleep as soon as Sam laid him down. He dried Dean off and managed to get him into sweatpants and a t-shirt. Cuffing Dean’s wrists and ankles to the bed, he felt like a bastard as Dean wouldn’t be able to roll over into his new sleeping position, but he knew that it was safer for Dean this way.

It was hard to leave the tempting sight of his sleeping brother spread-eagled on the bed, but Sam forced himself to leave the bedroom so that he could pack the things he needed for his visit to the Judge; rope, handcuffs and a very sharp knife.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam visits Judge Harris to get revenge for what he did to Dean. He also finds out something disturbing about Harris and his obsession with 'William'.

Sam knew he should have spent more time staking out the Judge’s house but his anger and need for revenge would not be deferred any longer. He knew from research on the internet that Judge Harris was divorced and lived alone, but he guessed he would have a housekeeper and possibly other staff. 

Sam followed Harris’s car from the court room out into the leafy suburbs to an area of big houses, immaculate lawns, expensive cars and bored rich housewives, and watched as he entered his mansion. 

He felt a new wave of fury when he compared the plush surroundings the man lived in to the hell-hole Dean had been kept in for three long years. After about thirty minutes that seemed much longer to Sam, a frumpy middle-aged woman left the house and, as Sam looked through his binoculars, he saw Harris sitting down alone to a meal laid out on a huge dining table. Sam wondered if he ever had company around that big old table; he knew the man had three grown up children and two grandchildren and Sam pictured the family sitting around the table with Harris at the head, smiling indulgently at them all. 

Such an image should have made Sam pause, as the man had loved ones who would surely miss him, but it just made him more determined to make him pay for stealing Dean’s life. Another thirty minutes passed and it was almost dark. He was sure now that Harris was alone, so he drove around the back of the mansion, taking a service road that refuse collectors and tradesmen used. Climbing out of the car, he slipped on a pair of leather gloves and pulled up the hood of his black jacket, then climbed easily over the locked gate leading to the grounds at the back of the Mansion.

Cautiously making his way across the lawn and right up to the house, Sam knew he should attempt to disable the alarm system that was no doubt installed, but he had neither the time nor the patience to do so. He took a huge gamble that Harris would not activate the alarm until he retired for the night, and as he jimmied open the side door that led into the kitchen he gave a sigh of relief that he was right. Creeping through to the dining room door, he could see Harris still sitting at the table, reading the newspaper and drinking whiskey from a tumbler. Sam adjusted the duffel on his shoulder and pulled out his handgun before entering the dining room. 

“Evening Judge,” Sam said politely as he walked in, “I hope you enjoyed your last meal.”

“Who the hell are you?” Harris said, his face reddening from shock and fear. He put his tumbler down and moved his hand slightly; Sam guessed he was going to activate the alarm, that there was probably a switch located beneath the table. 

“Don’t,” Sam growled, pointing the gun at Harris’s head, “Unless you want to die right the fuck now.”

“Okay, just keep calm, son,” Harris said, sweating profusely, his eyes focused on the gun, “I’ll give you the combination of the safe, my car keys, whatever you want. No one needs to get hurt.”

“I don’t want any of your money, you spineless piece of shit.” Sam glanced around the opulent room but couldn’t see an obvious place for a hidden camera. “Where’s the camera? And your alarm control panel?”

“Camera’s behind the clock on the wall, the alarm panel is in the basement,” Harris replied; “But you gotta know you won’t get away with this, whatever it is you’re planning.”

“Hands behind your back, now,” Sam instructed as Harris huffed and muttered but complied. He moved swiftly over and held the gun to the base of Harris’s fat neck. “If you struggle, I’ll just blow your brains out.” Sam warned before pulling the rope from his duffel and tying it around his wrists; then he pulled off the man’s tie.

“What the fuck are you doing? Stop right now, son, or you’ll be in big trouble,” Harris said with bravado but his voice shook with fear.

“Don’t worry, shithead, I’m not going to kill you, yet.” Sam fastened the silk tie around Harris’s head, using it as an effective gag. He kicked the chair over and Harris gave a muffled scream as his body hit the floor. “Don’t be such a wimp; at least you landed on carpet.” 

Sam left him there while he looked for the camera; it was where Harris had said and he took out a small canister of black paint spraying it over the lens. Scouring the room, he found another camera hidden in a picture and one more at the base of a large vase. 

“Looks like you weren't completely truthful there, Judge Harris.” Sam said to the cowering man, giving him a hard kick in the ribs and getting a satisfying, muffled howl in response. “Are there any more in here?” Harris shook his head miserably. “Okay, you wait right there.”

Sam headed for the basement and disabled the alarm system. It took a few minutes and, when he headed back returned to the dining room, he was surprised to see that Harris had managed to inch his way across the room towards a phone on a side table.

“Well, I’m impressed,” Sam chuckled as he walked over to the man, “I didn’t think you had any balls. Nice try, Judge”

Harris muttered behind the gag and Sam heaved him back up to sitting position and removed the now soggy silk tie. Sam took off his jacket as he was getting hot and could risk revealing his face now the cameras were useless.

“Look, just let me go, I got kids, grand-kids, you can have whatever you want. Take anything you want…”

“All I want is for you to suffer and die a slow agonizing death.”

“Why, what have I ever done to you?”

“You stole my brother, you sack of shit.”

“Stole your brother? What the hell d’you mean? Whoever he was, if he committed a crime he deserved whatever sentence I gave him.”

“You put him in The Brothel. You put him there against his will so you could use him.”

Harris’s ruddy face paled as he realized who Sam was talking about. “Not…no…you can’t be; William had no family.” Harris then stared at Sam. “Wait, I recognize you now, you were at The Brothel just before the fire! You did it, you bastard, you took my boy!”

Sam was shocked by the man’s reaction; he had gone from being scared to being pissed and indignant, like Sam was the one in the wrong. “He’s not your boy, he’s my brother.” Sam said as he advanced on Harris and punched him hard in his soft guts. 

“Fuck! Fuck you!” Harris was really pissed now and Sam punched him hard again to debilitate him before releasing his hands and tying them both to the arms of the chair. 

“You can scream and curse all you want; you’re never laying another finger on him.” Sam pulled his knife out and brought it down to press against the knuckles of Harris’s right hand. 

“No, don’t please, we can come to some arrangement, we could share! I can see you love your brother and I do too. My wife left me because she knew I loved William more than her!”

“You bastard, you call kidnapping someone, drugging them senseless and then raping them love?” Sam yelled; “and if you loved him, why’d you let other men use him?”

“I…I…” He had lost his brief surge of anger and was trembling in fear now, as Sam dug the knife into his skin, drawing a trickle of blood. “Please, don’t…”

Moving the knife quickly and efficiently, Sam sliced the man’s chubby little finger clean off his right hand. He howled in pain and looked like he might hurl or faint. Sam poured a glass of water from the carafe on the table and threw it into his face.

“Why did you let other men use him? Tell me or I take the next one.”

“Oh God, oh fuck, no…” Harris took some deep breaths and kept his eyes away from his right hand. “I…I like to watch!” He wailed.

Sam now felt like he might hurl or faint at the implication. “You were there? In the room or watching through a window? You fucking sick…”

“No, they record…record him…William…so I can watch…on my…my laptop.”

“Jesus Christ,” Sam sat on the edge of the table, “you are one sick son of a bitch.“

The sick son of a bitch’s eyes started to roll and Sam slapped his face hard. “No passing out yet, there are a few things we need to discuss.”

It took Sam an hour to gain the information he wanted, during which time he removed another finger, punched the man repeatedly in his stomach, and had to revive him three times with cold water and hard slaps. He had found out the password to Harris’s laptop, the names of the police officers who had colluded with Harris to get Dean sent to The Brothel and the combination of the safe, which he emptied of several bundles of cash. 

“I've told you everything!” Harris wailed as Sam approached him with the knife for the last time. “Please let me go now, I’m sorry, I’ll never touch another boy again, I promise,” he pleaded.

“My brother is older than me, and I have to give him permission to piss, to eat, to drink, to fucking come!” Sam snarled, holding the knife tight while he undid Harris’s belt and trousers. 

“No, don’t, what are you doing?” Harris squealed in panic.

“He doesn't know who he is. He can’t speak, he can’t think. He’s a fucking zombie. You did that to him, you sack of shit.” Sam’s nose wrinkled in disgust as the smell of urine hit him. “You pissed yourself? How pathetic.” Sam cut away his trousers making him yelp as he nicked soft flesh and doused his genitals in cold water making him yelp again. “That’s nothing, Judge. I think I’m gonna have to gag you again, as your screams will be so loud you’ll scare the neighbors.”

“No, fuck, what’re you gonna do? Don’t do it, please, please you can have anything…” Harris’s pleas were cut off as Sam shoved the tie back between his teeth and secured it. Sam hesitated for a moment; he knew this was beyond cruel and sadistic, but he looked at the man’s shriveled saggy cock hanging wet and limp between his fat thighs and imagined it ramming into Dean and any doubts he had left him.

He kicked the chair back again and it landed with a thud onto the thick carpet and a grunt from the sobbing Judge. He lifted the knife and brought it down almost slicing Harris’s dick clean off; even with the gag, the screams were blood-curdling. Blood pumped from the gash and Sam stared in horrified revulsion at what he had done; yet this was what the man deserved, this was justice, this was revenge. This was for Dean.

“You’ll pass out soon from the blood loss.” Sam said coldly, but he knew Harris was in too much agony to hear him. Sam hesitated again, this time because he wanted to be certain Harris would die from his wounds. “I’m going to have to give you a much kinder death than you deserve.“

Sam slapped Harris, leaving a bloody hand-print on his cheek, “are you listening?” The man’s eyes were glazed and he was shaking. “Oh well, here goes.” Sam plunged the knife into Harris’s stomach and this time the man didn’t scream, he just moaned and made a choking sound.

Standing up, Sam pulled off his leather gloves, tossing them on the floor next to the Judge, who was almost unconscious, and took a small can of gasoline from his duffle, replacing it with Harris’s laptop and cash before hoisting it up onto his shoulder. He splashed the gasoline out onto the carpet around the man, and then walked backwards out of the dining room, leaving a trail up to the kitchen door. Finally, he lit a match and dropped it onto the carpet, watching as the fire spread. He knew he could get a taste for arson, it was kind of satisfying.

Sam ran back to the gate and climbed over, stopping at the top to look back at the mansion, watching the flicker and glow of the flames taking hold. He smiled and dropped to the ground, then drove away, singing along to the radio and feeling happier than he had since finding Dean. 'I’m coming home big brother; we’re going to be celebrating. Get on your knees and lick those lips, get them ready for me.' 

A tiny voice inside him repeated his own words to Harris “you call kidnapping someone, drugging them senseless and then raping them love?” 

“Shut up!” He hissed aloud, “this is different. I saved him. No one is ever going to hurt him again, I love him; he’s my brother. I saved him, goddammit!”

Sam pulled over and fell out of the car onto his hands and knees and threw up onto the roadside. He sat back and leaned against the car door, taking deep breaths and trying to strangle that little voice inside his head. It was different; he was nothing like that sick bastard Harris. Another, more insidious voice told him “you did the right thing, Dean needs you, he’s been trained to be a cock-slut, to be a whore, he loves it now; it’s all he’s fit for. You’re helping him by letting him be who he is and giving him what he needs, because you love him.”

Sam climbed back into the car with a new sense of purpose. He had to get back soon, as Dean was waiting for him and Dean needed him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam returns to the cabin to find Dean distressed and scared. Sam settles his brother down then the realization of what he did to Judge Harris hits him. A few days later Sam finds out exactly what "William's" training involved.

Sam unlocked the cabin door and paused, listening for any sound from the bedroom. He had left Dean alone for much longer than he intended to; he hoped the sedatives had lasted and that Dean was still sleeping. It was very quiet in the cabin but as he entered the dark bedroom he could hear his brother sobbing. He switched on the light and Dean whimpered in fear.

“Hey, Dean, it’s okay, it’s me. I’m sorry I left you alone for so long.” Sam approached the bed slowly and the smell of urine hit him for the second time that day. “Oh fuck!” he cursed as he took in the sight of his big brother. Dean was shivering, covered in sweat and soaking wet between his legs. He had been struggling against the cuffs, and although they were padded, both wrists were bleeding steadily. His eyes were closed tightly, like he was too scared to even look at Sam.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to be gone so long,” Sam repeated gently as he knelt down by the bed; “It took a lot longer than I thought, but I did it, Dean; the fucker’s dead.” Dean’s eyes stayed firmly shut but his sobbing grew louder. “Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you, don’t be scared.” Sam sighed in frustration and added, “William, stop.”

Immediately taking a deep breath, Dean opened his eyes. He fought against his tears and looked at Sam like he had never seen him before in his life. “William, it’s okay,” Sam reassured; “I’m not gonna hurt you.” He got up slowly and sat on the edge of the bed. Dean looked like a trapped animal, his huge green eyes fixed on Sam, his breathing heavy and on the edge of panic. Sam unlocked the cuffs and pulled his brother into his arms.

“What a state you’re in. I’m so sorry, baby.” Sam could feel Dean’s thin body shaking as he leaned against him. “I gotcha, I’m not gonna hurt you, Dean. No one’s ever gonna hurt you again.” He rocked Dean gently in his arms and felt him relax a little. “We need to get you cleaned up, patch up your wrists.” He pulled away to look at Dean, who blinked vacantly back at him. “Do you understand a word I’m saying?” Dean just looked confused and scared. “Shit. Well, come on, let’s get you cleaned up; you’re freezing, dude.” He got up and pulled Dean to his feet, then guided him to the bathroom.

“Do you need to take a piss?” Sam looked at his big brother who stood trembling by the toilet. “Or, um, take a shit?” This was so hard, so much more difficult than Sam had imagined. “Um, William, toilet?” A look of relief flickered over Dean’s face and he sat on the toilet seat. “Crap…I mean shit…fuck I’m not watching this!” He hastily retreated to wait outside the bathroom door, returning when he heard the toilet being flushed. 

He helped Dean to strip off and shower. Too exhausted to react to the arousing sight of his naked brother, Sam dried him off methodically, and then bandaged both wrists, before handing him a pair of sweat-pants and a t-shirt. Dean looked confused again at being given clothing and Sam took his time, helping him to dress. Finally, he pulled his now sweet-smelling brother back onto his arms and held him tight. Dean wasn’t sobbing any more but he was still shaking and Sam realized he was overdue his medication.

“William, sit,” Sam instructed and Dean sat obediently at the kitchen table. “I’m gonna fix up some food, strip the bed and then after we've eaten we can watch some TV, okay?”

Dean was gazing at a spot on the wall; if it hadn’t been for his body’s constant shaking he would look like a life-size doll.

“William!” Sam snapped and Dean’s head jerked up to look at him. “Do you understand anything I say?”

Dean just frowned in confusion again and Sam had the urge to slap him, just to get a reaction.

“William, speak! Say something, anything…” Sam suddenly felt overwhelmed. He had kidnapped Dean, saved him, and killed for him; but this empty shell wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t Dean.

Dean sank to his knees and whispered, “Please…”

“Please what? Tell me what the fuck you want!” Sam yelled.

“Please…please sir…” Dean was crying again, but held out his hands and licked his lips in an obvious answer to Sam’s question.

“No…fuck…I can’t…” Sam’s mind was whirling but his dick was already half-hard from seeing Dean naked and now it sprang to life as Dean provocatively licked his lips again. His legs propelled him across the room before his brain caught up; within seconds his dick was out and Dean was kissing it. “Oh fuck…” 'Look at him, this is what he needs, more than the drugs, more than anything; you asked what he wanted and this, this is it.' 

Dean skilfully used his hands and his tongue to guide Sam’s dick into his mouth, and it didn’t take Sam long to come, shooting his load down his brother’s throat. He looked down at Dean as he pulled out and his brother looked as spaced out as he felt. Sinking to his knees, he cupped Dean’s face in his hands, bending forward to kiss him tenderly. Dean gave a little gasp of surprise and Sam wasn’t sure if he was used to being kissed. Of course he is, with lips like that the clients probably kissed him as hard as they fucked him.

It was irrational to be jealous of all the men who had used Dean but he couldn’t help it. He gripped Dean’s face hard and thrust his tongue in, tasting himself in his brother’s mouth. When he pulled off Dean looked shell-shocked and Sam’s finger-marks were visible on his chin and his jaw.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, and you’re mine.” Sam smiled but Dean just stared at him. “William, smile.” Dean’s face broke out into a shy smile, his lips were a little swollen and Sam resisted the urge to kiss him again. He ruffled Dean’s hair instead and said “Good boy, William”, making him smile wider.

Sam emptied two cans of chicken and vegetable soup into a large saucepan, too tired to do anything more appetizing. He stripped the bed and washed the mattress while the soup was cooking and made up the spare bed. Dean had remained kneeling where Sam had left him and had resumed staring at the wall.

“I wonder what the hell you’re thinking about,” Sam said as he watched him; Dean didn’t even look at him. “William, sit.” Dean scrambled up onto his feet and sat back on the chair. He’s so obedient and he’s all yours. You know all that’s in his head is sucking dick, being fucked, begging to come…

“God, we’d better eat or I’ll end up fucking you all night. Not that you’d mind, I guess?” Sam chuckled. He ladled out the soup and placed the bowls on the table with some bread.

Sam had to give Dean permission to eat again and he managed about half a bowl of soup and a slice of bread.

“Not hungry?” Sam asked, as he helped himself to another thick slice of bread and dipped it into his soup. “I don’t suppose they fed you much." 

"William, meds,” Sam announced as he pushed the pot of Dean’s various drugs across the table to him and he watched as Dean tipped them into his mouth automatically, downing them all with a glass of water. “What would happen if I just stopped giving them to you?” Sam mused, “Would you remember me? Would you remember anything? Fuck, Dean I don’t know what to do here.”

Sam pushed his own plate away, losing his appetite.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” Sam said more loudly and Dean flinched at the tone but didn’t respond. “Shit, this is going to be so annoying! Why can’t you understand?” Sam punched the table with his fist and Dean looked at him in fear. “William, you have to listen, you have to understand! I killed a man for you today; I killed the judge who stuck you in The Brothel. I cut off his dick and watched him bleed!” Sam’s head swam at the memory. “I killed him! I killed him for you! I killed a man…oh God, oh fuck…” 

He ran to the bathroom and made it just in time to chuck up all that he had eaten. He half expected Dean to follow him, to make sure he was alright; but of course Dean didn’t come. Sam found himself thinking of all the times Dean had been there when he was sick, patiently caring for him, looking after him with such devotion even when he was just a young kid himself, and he started to cry, overcome with sorrow at what had happened to Dean and horror at what he had done to Harris. He had killed before, but they had been monsters, not human. This time, he had taken a life, killed a man, and as much as he told himself the man deserved it, he felt sick inside.

He knew he had unleashed something inside himself today, something dark and disturbing. He had enjoyed watching the panic in Harris’s face and the fear in his eyes. He had felt powerful when he plunged the knife into him, taking his life. He had relished setting the fire, seeing it consume the house. Now he could distance himself, rationalize what he had done and realize how wrong it was; even so, he knew he would do it all again. 'And you did it all so you could claim Dean as your own, use him and keep him for your pleasure.'

Sam cried until his chest hurt, until his nose was blocked and his eyes were puffy slits. Pulling himself upright, he washed his face, and then went back into the kitchen where he found Dean sitting in exactly the same position, staring at the wall. Sam wanted to hit him again and knew he was being irrational; none of this was Dean’s fault.

Making his way to the lounge, he called out for William and fell asleep with the TV still on and his brother in his arms.

 

The next few days passed in a blur. Sam knew he was in some kind of shock from killing Harris; he couldn’t concentrate on anything and had a persistent headache, accompanied by nausea.

He made sure that Dean ate, took his meds and did some form of exercise each day; but whenever he was left alone he just stared at the wall or slept. There wasn’t much interaction and no chance of conversation. Sam had to let Dean give him a blow job at least four times a day – you have to help him, he is desperate for it, it’s for his own good - and he liked to watch as Dean jerked himself off afterwards. Sam wanted more; he wanted to make love to Dean, to see him smile at him in recognition and not just because he had been conditioned to smile at his ‘clients’. He wanted his big brother back, but he wanted the use of his body as well, and he wasn’t sure if Dean would be as accommodating as William was about that.

 

On the third day, Sam opened up the laptop and scrolled through the files Harris had on William, and what he found was both disturbing and horrifying. Dean had been filmed 24 hours a day over the three years he had been at The Brothel. There were folders labelled with titles such as “William: Training”, “William: Threesome”, “William: DP”, “William: punishment”, “William: toys” and “William: bondage”.

Sam glanced across at Dean, who was curled up asleep on the sofa. He clicked open the Training folder and his stomach lurched when he saw Dean, his big brother, tied to a chair and scowling at someone as he cursed colorfully.

“You fucking sick bitch! I know what this place is and I didn’t fucking consent! You better let me go or I’ll fucking kill you! You sick fucking…” Dean screamed and his body went rigid as some kind of prod was used to administer an electric shock to his left nipple.

“Now, William, we’ve told you, that sort of language is not acceptable,” a female voice said calmly. Sam recognized the voice; it was the woman who had shown him around at The Brothel.

Dean’s head lolled as the pain subsided and when he looked up, he was bleeding from his mouth – he had bitten his lip or his tongue while convulsing. His eyes looked vivid green and full of hatred; his teeth were blood-stained and he looked almost feral.

“Then let me go, you fuckers! Send me to fucking prison, you ...” Dean gasped as a bucket of water was thrown over his naked body. This time when the prod was applied to his wet skin, he screamed until he blacked out; his head dropping down towards his chest, his stiff body going lax.

“You bastards!” Sam hissed at the screen. He got up to walk over to his sleeping brother, feeling an overwhelming need to see him and touch him. Dean’s body twitched and he whimpered, no doubt dreaming of his time at The Brothel. “Oh Dean I’m so sorry,” Sam whispered as he wiped hot angry tears from his eyes. Covering Dean with a blanket, he knelt down and stroked his hair until Dean settled down into a more peaceful sleep. “They’re all going to pay for what they did to you,” he snarled; “every single one of them.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam discovers more about what happened to Dean at The Brothel and identifies his next target.

Sam stared in horrified fascination at the screen as Dean was repeatedly beaten, shocked, deprived of light, starved and locked in a small cage. Each time he came back fighting, snarling, resisting; it went on for days. Then they started to drug him, and he watched helplessly as his big, strong, stupidly-brave brother was broken by a small needle and a vial of liquid. At first Dean still struggled against his captors, punching the first ‘client’ they presented him with in the face and breaking his nose; so the drugs were upped. Then he almost bit off another client’s dick; the drugs were upped again.

Sam read ‘case notes’ which argued that if they kept him on the regime of drugs he would become useless, no more than a zombie. So a new combination of drugs was tried and after several weeks ‘William’ was quiet, docile, compliant, but ready and eager to be fucked. 'Just how you want him'.

He soon pieced together what Dean’s life had been like at The Brothel. He was kept in his room except for an hour a day when he was taken for a run around the perimeter of the building and an hour a week when he was taken to a gym. His day started with a light breakfast, followed by his run, a shower and then his first client of the day. He averaged around six clients per day, depending on how long each one spent with him and what they did to him. Some paid extra to physically abuse him and Sam saw his brother’s defenceless body being beaten with whips, canes and belts. 

Sam forced himself to close the laptop and tried to ignore the way his dick had reacted to seeing Dean being abused; he was disgusted with himself that what he had seen could make him hard. Then he looked at Dean, still dozing on the sofa, curled on his side, his perfect mouth slightly open and all he could think about was shoving his dick between those soft lips. 

Instead he quickly changed into his running gear and took a fast and furious run about half a mile down the track and back. Despite the cool breeze, he was sweating and in desperate need of a shower when he returned to find that Dean was awake, kneeling by the sofa with his hands behind his back, looking spaced-out and ready for anything. Sam knew it was wrong, but his run hadn’t made his dick any less hard and he needed Dean’s mouth around it, almost as much as he needed air to breathe. 'Take him, look how he’s kneeling there ready and waiting, wanting, wanting you to fuck his face…'

Sam was across the room and in front of Dean within seconds, and Dean looked up at him with a smile. In a moment of regret, Sam realized that the only time Dean smiled now was when he was being a good and obedient fuck-toy. Sam would give anything to see his brother smile genuinely again. 'But you’d give more to fuck him.'

“William, lips.” He managed to say, his voice coming out louder and harsher than intended. Dean didn’t seem to even notice the tone, he just licked his lips in a slow, sensual invitation and it was all Sam needed. Sam didn’t want slow and sensual, he wanted his dick inside his brother right the fuck now and Dean’s huge eyes showed his shock as Sam gripped his hair and thrust inside, choking him. 

Pulling out, he let Dean take a gasp of air, then pushed back inside, loving Dean’s muffled sobs and gasps, getting off on the fact that he was in complete control of him, and knowing that if he held on long enough Dean would black out. Relishing the power it gave him, he gave a roar of triumph as he came down Dean’s throat. 

“Fuck, fuck, yes, fucking hell!” He wiped the sweat from his forehead and realized Dean was swaying, only being held up by Sam’s hand in his hair. He saw Dean’s eyes roll and swiftly pulled out, catching him before he crashed onto the floor. Now he had done what he thought he wanted and made Dean pass out, he was overcome with remorse. His head spun with the dichotomy of his feelings – how could he love Dean so much yet want to hurt him? 

Lifting Dean up onto the sofa, he kissed his forehead gently. He knelt by Dean’s side waiting for him to come round, starting to feel a little anxious when there was no response. He patted Dean’s flushed cheek and was relieved when his green eyes fluttered open. Sam’s heart ached as he saw the confusion in those eyes but then Dean smiled, a fucked-out dopey smile, and reached his hand out tentatively to Sam. 'See, it’s not the first time he’s been fucked senseless, he loved it, look how he’s smiling.'

“Hey, you with me?” Sam smiled back. “William, I…I’m sorry; shit, you don’t care about my excuses, do you?” Dean just carried on smiling at him as his hand stroked Sam’s face. Sam sighed and leaned into his touch. “William, speak, please.”

“Please, sir.” Dean moved his hand to gently brush Sam’s lips with his fingertips. 

Sam leaned in and kissed him, tasting himself on his brother’s soft lips. Dean sighed happily as Sam wrapped his arms around him and held him close; it was a sweet kiss, gentle and tender. 

Eventually pulling away, Sam smiled down at Dean. “Good boy, William;” there was so much more he wanted to say but he knew ‘William’ would only respond to a few simple words and phrases. Dean grinned at the praise. 

“William, sit, wait,” Sam commanded, and left Dean sitting on the sofa while he went to shower and change his clothes. 

He encouraged Dean to help him prepare a chilli for their supper, which was surprisingly difficult. He tried putting a knife in Dean’s hand and a chopping board with onion and tomatoes in front of him, but “William, chop” just got a blank stare. In the end he had to show Dean what he wanted then guide his hand doing it until he got the idea.

Once the food was ready, they sat on the sofa with their bowls of chilli and Sam found some sci-fi crap on the TV, the kind of thing that Dean used to love. It was one of the many incarnations of Star Trek but Dean showed no interest in it, just sitting patiently next to Sam, food untouched. 

Sam sighed. “Go ahead, Dean; eat.” Dean glanced at him and back at his food. “Eat!” Sam snapped and Dean’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh for fuck’s sake! William, eat!” 

Dean wiped his eyes and picked up his spoon, his hand shaking slightly. Sam’s appetite had left him but he forced a few mouthfuls down. They had taken everything from Dean; his love of life, his love of food, his love of beer, his love of music and cheesy sci-fi. They had stolen his memories, his personality, his whole fucking life; leaving behind this shell. 

Sam finished eating at the same time as Dean and put their bowls on the floor. He pulled Dean into his arms. “I love you, Dean; I’m gonna take care of you. I’m gonna help you get better.”

Dean was soon softly snoring and Sam moved away, laying him on the sofa once more. He went back to the kitchen table, picking up a bottle of whiskey on the way, and opened up his laptop again. 

Sam clicked on a file that said ‘Annabel’ and was stunned to see the woman who had shown him around, the one who had tortured Dean, stripping off her clothes as Dean knelt at her feet. Sam had thought only men used the boys at The Brothel, but in some ways he wasn’t surprised this evil bitch had taken advantage of Dean. He had seen the way she’d looked at him when she showed Sam into the room. What shocked Sam further was when she produced a dildo and fucked Dean with it, adding a cock-ring to keep Dean from coming until she had finished playing with him. She had Dean laid out on his back on the bed, holding his knees up and apart to give her room to work the dildo. Stroking herself with her free hand, she gripped the dildo with the other, forcing pained moans from Dean’s beautiful mouth and tears of frustration from his eyes.

She climbed up over Dean so her breasts were hanging above his stomach and undid the cock-ring, laughing as Dean’s over-stimulated cock shot ropes of come over her breasts and he screamed in agonized relief. Then she moved up over Dean and ordered him to lick his own come from her breasts, before lying down herself. She made Dean move so he was between her spread legs and Sam switched it off. He didn’t want to see his brother giving her oral sex and he didn’t look at any of the other files bearing her name; he had already seen enough to make her his next target. 

Sam’s cell beeped and he checked it, guessing it was Bobby again. The older man had left six messages so far and a text – Sam didn’t even know Bobby knew how to text – saying “Answer your god-damned phone”. This time Bobby just said “If you don’t speak to me I’m gonna come find you, with your daddy in tow.”

“Shit!” Sam cursed aloud; “the clever old bastard would do it too! Fuck you, Bobby Singer!” It was enough of a threat to make Sam hit Bobby’s number and steel himself for the tirade.

“About fucking time,” Bobby growled; “so how’s he doing?”

“Not good, Bobby,” Sam replied; “listen, I’m so…”

“Save your apologies, boy. It’s been days and you couldn’t pick up the damned phone and give me some peace of mind?” Bobby took a deep breath and Sam could tell he was getting himself under control before continuing. “Tell me about Dean,” 

“Okay, well, he’s not really Dean at all, he’s still out of it most of the time.” Sam explained; “I have to order him or give him permission to do anything, like eat or sit or use the fucking bathroom! It’s real hard, Bobby, harder than I imagined it would be.”

“You bring him here, you hear me?” Bobby implored, “you can’t do this alone; he needs to be weaned off the drugs. It’s gonna be tough.”

“Yeah, I know, and I will, but I have some things to take care of here first.”

“Like you took care of that judge?” Bobby growled. “Fuck’s sake, Sam, what the hell’s got into you? We don’t kill people! You should’ve brought Dean here, and then gone after them legally. Got the place shut down.”

“You don’t know what they did to him; they’re not people, they’re worse than any fucking monster any hunter’s ever killed.” Sam said calmly; knowing exactly what he had to do.

“It’s murder whatever way you want to look at it, boy,” Bobby sighed wearily, “just don’t go making it any worse. Come here, we’ll look after Dean, get him back on his feet…”

“I got it, Bobby. Look, I’ll start dropping the dosage of his meds, start getting him more lucid, and once I’m done here, we’ll come to you.”

“Well it’s a fucking stupid plan,” Bobby grumbled; “but I’m giving you one week and if you ain’t here by then, I’m coming for you.”

“Thanks Bobby” Sam sighed, adding; “um, did you tell dad?”

“Nope, still not been able to get hold of him, but I heard he’s getting real close to the monster that killed your momma.” Bobby replied.

“That’s good, I guess,” Sam said with relief, “Thanks again, Bobby.” 

He cut off the call before Bobby could respond and switched off his cell. He was relieved his dad still didn’t know about Dean, but he wasn’t sure how long he could put Bobby off. 

The next day he drove back to The Brothel and parked up in the lane leading from the facility to the main road. He waited until he saw Annabel drive past and tailed her. She didn’t go home; she headed into town and to an Italian restaurant. Heading into the restaurant, Sam took a table for one across the room from her and her male companion. He ordered a chicken salad and watched the couple, guessing this was a date judging by their body language and the way she giggled girlishly at him. Sam was frustrated, he knew she wasn’t married and lived alone so he had hoped to trail her back and finish her off just as he had Judge Harris. 

“Fuck’s sake, Sam, what the hell’s got into you? We don’t kill people!” he heard Bobby’s voice inside his head and took a swig of beer. She was listening intently to something her date was saying and she looked younger and prettier now, so normal. It was hard to believe this was the same woman that had tortured and raped his brother. 

Sam ate his food mechanically, not really tasting it at all, and then left after paying the bill. He waited in his car until Annabel and her date left the restaurant and both got in her car. He sighed; there was no way he could carry out his plan tonight. He decided to follow them anyway and tailed them to a cinema. “First date, how cute.” He murmured to himself. 

Sam sat in the car for an hour, his thoughts in a whirl. He wanted to kill the bitch tonight; he had sedated Dean and didn’t want to miss this opportunity. But she was a person, a young woman going out on a first date. Then he shuddered as he remembered her torturing Dean and saw his brother’s face twisted in agony, and suddenly his task didn’t seem so distasteful. 

Waiting until the car park was deserted, he walked over to her car and bent down as if he was tying his shoe lace, he let the air out of the left rear tyre, not enough that she would notice at first but enough to make driving problematic. 

Then he resumed his position and waited. 

Emerging from the cinema, the couple returned to her car and Sam tailed them again, praying that she would just drop the guy off and not go on for coffee or take him home. Thankfully she did just that; they shared a kiss and he climbed out of the car.

She drove away and almost immediately the car started pulling to one side, prompting her to stop and get out. Sam could hardly believe that she could be so stupid as he pulled up behind her.

“Car trouble, ma’am?” He asked, walking toward her. She looked up at him in concern and then relaxed as she recognized his familiar face in the illumination of his headlights. 

“Yes, I think I have a flat tyre,” she sighed; “thanks for stopping.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Sam smiled as approached her. However, before she could scream or move away, he had grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder.

She screamed now, kicking and hitting out at him, and her screams intensified as he opened up the trunk of his car and lowered her inside. As she struggled to get out, he punched her, hitting her jaw and knocking her flat out. He had never hit a woman before – not one that was completely human anyhow – and he felt a twinge of shame, but he knew he was going to do much worse to her before long. Tying her wrists and ankles together, he resisted the temptation to just keep on punching her - he wanted her to know why she was going to die. 

Driving out towards the cabin, he stopped at a small lake a few miles away. He pulled the sobbing, terrified woman out of the trunk and hauled her towards the lake “Don’t, please, don’t hurt me! I know you, I saw you at The Brothel, why - why are you doing this?” She pleaded as he dragged her along.

“I’m William’s brother,” he replied, stopping at the edge of the lake and shoving her down onto the mud.

She gasped and looked even more terrified. “No, no, he didn’t have any family…”

“William didn’t, but that was an alias. He’s my big brother Dean.” Sam dropped to his knees and held her struggling body still with one big hand, keeping his voice calm and casual. “When I killed Judge Harris I took his laptop. I've seen what you did to my brother.”

“I’m sorry; I didn’t know he had a brother…”

“So you think what you did would have been okay if he’d been alone?” Sam snarled; “you’re one sick bitch.” 

“No, no I didn’t mean that!” she sobbed; “please listen, I have money, I’ll pay you, pay William – Dean – you don’t need to hurt me…”

“Money won’t make up for what you did,” Sam retorted; “there’s only one way you can possibly pay back for torturing him and stealing his life. This is retribution for Dean.”

Sam was about to push her into the water when he hesitated. He had to know why. 

“Don’t do this please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she tried pleading again.

“If you answer some questions, I’ll make it quick,” Sam replied brusquely.

“No, no, don’t please don’t kill me…” she was becoming hysterical.

“Calm down,” Sam commanded, slapping her face; “take a deep breath.”

“Fuck you!” she spat out at him. 

“Just answer the questions and it will be better for you.”

“You’re gonna k-kill me whatever I s-say!”

“True, but as I said I can take it slow, make you suffer like Dean suffered, or I can make it quick.”

Her breathing evened out and she nodded. 

“Okay,” Sam began, ignoring the tears and despair in her eyes; “you were always going to drug him, so why did you torture him?” 

“H-Harris wanted…wanted to see him break,” she sniveled; “he w-wanted to see him begging, pleading. But William – Dean - wouldn’t give in; he was t-too fucking stubborn.”

“He was the bravest man I ever knew,” Sam growled menacingly; “he was a hero. He saved people’s lives. You broke him and reduced him to an empty fucking shell.”

“But we-we thought he was just some punk kid!”

Grabbing her jacket lapel, Sam hauled her up so she was inches from his face. “You don’t know him!” he yelled into her tear-stained face; “and even if he had been some punk kid you had no fucking right to do what you did to him!”

“Don’t…don’t…” she was sobbing again and Sam just wanted to finish it.

“Just one more question.” He laid her back down, almost gently. “Are there any others that the judge placed in The Brothel?”

“No, not anymore…he had another one b-before William. He was released but he…” she bit her lip and Sam waited. “He killed himself a few weeks after he got out.”

“What was his name?” Sam asked.

“J-Jimmy. Jimmy Carter,” she sobbed. “Please, please don’t do this…I’ll never hurt anyone again, I promise, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“Save it. This is for Dean.” Standing up, Sam hauled her into the icy water of the lake. She screamed but it was cut short as Sam pushed her head under the water. He pulled her up again, watching as she coughed and gasped for air. “I want your last thought to be of my brother, I want you to regret every second you spent abusing his body, abusing his mind.”

He pushed her under again and pulled her out quickly. “His name is Dean. He’s a hero. He’s my big brother. This is for Dean.” 

This time he held her under until she stopped struggling and when he lifted her up she was no longer breathing; her eyes were blood shot and staring, her lips already turning blue. 

Sam pushed her lifeless body further into the lake and watched it floating away for several minutes. His body was numb from the cold water and his brain seemed to be equally numb. He didn’t feel anything, no relief, no remorse. He managed to make himself walk out of the lake, his legs shaking from the cold, and lay on the bank looking up at the stars in the clear sky. 

"I did it, Dean, I killed her for you." He whispered, smiling serenely ."I’ll do anything for you and I know you’ll do anything for me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks again to my wonderful betas, who make the story flow much better.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam returns to the cabin after drowning Annabel. He takes his relationship with Dean further and they receive a night-time visitor.

Sam knew he really should move; his clothes were soaked and he was getting really cold. He also knew he should feel guilty about drowning that evil bitch Annabel, but he didn't feel anything. Forcing himself to his feet and into the car, he turned up the heat and turned on the radio too.

“Back in Black” roared through the speakers and Sam rested his head against the steering wheel as he listened to the familiar song. He could see Dean sitting next to him, grinning as he sang along loudly and tunelessly, just to annoy his little brother "…well I'm ba-a-a-ack, yes I’m ba-a-a-ack, well I’m back in black…”

Sam started to cry, tears running down his face into his mouth, salty and warm. He knew that his Dean would never be back. How could anyone ever get over all that Dean had endured? His annoying, charming, brave, frustrating and beautiful big brother was gone forever. 'He's still beautiful, isn't he? Just think of those lips.'

His sorrow shifted quickly to anger - at Dean for getting caught in the first place, at Judge Harris for enslaving Dean and at Annabel for abusing Dean.

“You bitch, you fucking bitch!” Sam yelled through the windscreen out into the dark night. “I don't feel sorry for killing you! I'm just fucking sorry I didn't make you suffer for longer!“ He punched the dashboard and the pain in his knuckles brought him back from his rage.

“Shit! I'm losing the plot here,” he chuckled to himself, taking a deep breath as he changed the radio station to an innocuous country channel and drove away from the lake, away from the woman he had murdered.

 

Dean was still sleeping when Sam returned to the cabin, curled up on his side on the bed with a frown on his beautiful face, his limbs giving little jerks as he experienced yet another nightmare.

Sam stripped off his damp clothes and changed into wonderfully dry sweatpants and a t-shirt. He thought about making himself a warm drink and a toasted sandwich, but Dean looked so fucking gorgeous lying there on the warm, comfortable bed. Sam sat on the bed next to his sleeping brother, and then rolled Dean onto his back; smiling as Dean murmured and sighed but didn’t wake up. He leaned down to kiss Dean’s forehead.

“Stay right there, baby. You don’t need to be scared,” he whispered.

He’d had to do some training of his own with Dean, as he hated it when Dean slept curled into the fetal position. On the nights they had spent together so far, Sam had moved Dean onto his chest, holding him in his arms, to stop him from rolling over and away from him. Sometimes Dean would whimper and struggle a little so Sam would command “William, stay” and Dean would fall asleep wrapped in Sam’s embrace. Sam knew it was exhaustion rather than security that made Dean sleep in his arms; but he also knew that soon Dean would no longer need to sleep curled in a protective ball, as now that Sam had him he was safe and he was loved.

Dean was still out for the count but Sam needed him. He kissed his brother on the lips, and then nuzzled down his neck to his freckled chest. He licked and sucked at Dean’s nipples until they grew hard, and although this produced soft groans from him, it didn’t wake him. Sam decided to see how far he could go without Dean wakening and licked, nipped and sucked a line down to Dean’s semi-hard cock. He took Dean’s cock in his hand, stroking it until it was fully erect. It never took long to get Dean hard, partly due to his training and partly due to the effects of one of the drugs he was on.

Dean’s eyes fluttered open and Sam’s heart leapt and his dick grew harder as Dean’s face lit up with a shy smile, He licked his lips, gazing at Sam.

“Speak, William,” Sam removed his hand from Dean’s cock.

“Please, please, please…” Dean pleaded, his hips circling in desire.

“Holy shit!” Sam murmured and started stroking Dean’s cock again, pumping him until he came, spurting over Sam’s hands and his stomach. Lifting his hand to Dean’s mouth, he said “William, lick,” and Dean eagerly lapped his own come from Sam’s fingers.

Sam was rock hard as he watched Dean’s tongue working around his fingers but he knew he wanted more, needed more. In the week they had been together, he had loved having Dean’s lips around his dick, loved coming down Dean’s throat, and loved coming in Dean’s skillful hands, but now he was ready for more. The images he had seen on the laptop of Dean being raped and abused had aroused him despite his disgust with himself. They had also made him want to make love to Dean, to show him that not everyone was out to use him and hurt him. 'Because you don’t want to use him or hurt him – much.'

He pulled his hand away from Dean’s mouth and Dean smiled at him again. “I’m gonna fuck you now Dean,” he whispered, “I’m gonna be part of you, I’m gonna make you mine. I love you so much; no one else will ever touch you or ever hurt you again. I wish you understood.” He stroked Dean’s hair and Dean leaned in to the touch. “Dean?” he prompted, “Dean?” Dean didn’t respond, but just continued to smile serenely at him.

Sam laughed and Dean smiled wider. “You’re so beautiful,” Sam sighed; “so very fuckable. You gonna spread your legs for me, baby? You gonna let me fill you up? Hey, William, speak!”

“Please, sir,” Dean pleaded and it was sincere enough for Sam to believe that Dean had understood every word and that he was giving his consent. 'Begging for it, begging to have your cock inside him.'

Sam grabbed the lube he had left on the bedside cabinet and pushed Dean’s legs apart. Dean grabbed them and held them, hands clasped behind his knees, without being told. 'He’s so good at this, so very eager.'

“Good boy, William,” Sam said, squeezing lube over his fingers of his right hand. He ran a fingertip around the rim and Dean whimpered, giving a shudder. “It’s okay, gonna look after you, gonna make it so good,” Sam murmured, opening Dean wider with his left hand and sliding a finger inside the hole. Dean moaned and Sam could have come just from the sound, but he needed to be inside Dean. He worked him open, adding a second finger, then a third, rotating them, loving the noises his brother was making. He moved inside Dean for a few minutes until Dean was hard again, his neck arched, and his head thrown back as he panted, eyes closed and mouth wide open with aching need.

Sam pulled out slowly and Dean blinked at him. “What do you want, Dean? Want my cock? William, speak!”

“Please, please sir, please!” Dean whined, his green eyes bright with tears.

Sam lubed his cock and lined it up quickly, pushing inside his brother’s eager body. It was tight and hot and felt so good, so right. As he moved deeper inside his brother he was overwhelmed by the sense of belonging, the sense of connection, the sense of home. It didn’t take long before Sam was coming inside Dean, screaming Dean’s name and then jerking him off too while his now limp cock was still nestled inside Dean.

Then he pulled out slowly, carefully, watching his come leak from his brother’s hole. His brother. He had just fucked his beautiful brother. At last. Sam gave a whoop of sheer joy and pulled Dean into his arms, hugging him tightly, as he pressed kisses into his neck and shoulder.

“Holy shit, you’re amazing, I love you so much, Dean! You’re better than anyone, anything…” He pushed Dean away to look at him. There was confusion in Dean’s green eyes but his face looked happy and relaxed. “I’m gonna look after you, take care of you, love you…” Sam yawned, exhaustion claiming him. “We should clean up, but I’m too tired. You can though – William, go wash. Go take a piss.”

Rising gracefully Dean limped across the room and Sam felt a pang of guilt that he obviously hadn’t been as gentle as he had thought. Sam watched his brother move, the moonlight emphasizing Dean’s long back, broad shoulders and pert bottom. Sam sighed happily; Dean was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. He frowned at the thought of Dean as a creature rather than a person and how much Dean’s behavior and responses reminded him of the dog he had briefly owned in Flagstaff. He was so obedient, so dependent, so eager to please. Just like Bones.

And if Dean was happy as he was, where was the harm in that? It was probably better than knowing what he had lived through for three long years. Sam had always wanted a dog of his own and now…he shook his head to clear the weird thoughts from his mind. He knew he was being ridiculous; Dean was still a man despite everything, still his big brother, and Sam was going to help him get better. 'Yes, and in the meantime you can use your eager, obedient brother as often as you like.'

 

Sam fell asleep with Dean in his arms and in his dreams he saw the Yellow-Eyed Man once again. It had been weeks since he had dreamed of him and he had never told anyone about his dreams, they were too disturbing. The man always looked completely normal, almost friendly, as he smiled at Sam; then his eyes would turn to a luminous yellow color and he would tell Sam how he was chosen, special, destined for great things. Sam didn’t like the man and didn’t trust anything he said, but he was unsettled by what he had been told. This time the man sat down on the chair across the room and smiled at Sam. At the same time, Dean whimpered in his sleep almost like he knew something was wrong.

“Aw, isn’t he adorable?” Yellow-Eyes said and Sam sat up, easing Dean from his arms onto the mattress.

“Leave him out of this. What the fuck do you want?” Sam whispered angrily.

“Just checking up on you, Sammy-boy,” the yellow-eyed man grinned and leaned forward; “It’s all working out better than I’d hoped so far,” he paused and Sam knew he was waiting for Sam to take the bait, so he remained stubbornly silent, waiting for the man to continue; “When I heard you’d found Dean, I thought I’d have to come here and take care of him; remove him from the equation,” the man sneered; “then when I saw the state he was in, oh boy!” He chuckled and Sam wanted to punch his smug face. “Well, he’s certainly no threat to us, Sammy! He’s no threat to anyone or anything; poor broken Dean-o.”

“Don’t you call him that. Don’t you dare say that about him!” Sam growled, as he rubbed soothing circles over Dean’s back.

“It’s okay Sammy, not gonna hurt him,” the man said with a creepy grin.

“It’s Sam. Only Dean gets to call me Sammy.” Sam fought to keep his voice low, not wanting to disturb Dean.

“Except he can’t call you that, can he? Please, sir,” he mimicked Dean’s voice and Sam was on his feet in seconds, crossing the room ready to punch him in the face.

“Easy there, sport!” He easily dodged Sam’s attempted punch, grabbing his wrists, holding them in a vice-like grip.

“You fucking pervert,” Sam snarled; “have you been spying on me and my brother? Is that how you get your kicks?” Sam struggled against the man’s grip but it was too firm.

“You really don’t want to know how I get my kicks, boy.” His voice was colder, more menacing and Sam stopped struggling. The yellow-eyed man gave another creepy smile; “I just want to talk to you, that’s all.”

“You’ve talked to me before, all the crap about me being special, chosen.” Sam said bitterly, “but you’re just a dream, a fucking nightmare!”  
“I may be in your dreams but I’m very real,” he muttered something in a language Sam didn’t know and Dean started to scream in pain.

“Stop it! Stop, please don’t hurt him!” Sam screamed, looking round at his brother who was doubled up in agony, his face contorted in pain.  
“Will you listen to me then, and save poor old Dean-o yet more pain?” the man teased.

“Yes, you fucking bastard, yes! Just stop, please!” Sam sobbed as Dean howled like a wounded animal. Again the man muttered some kind of spell and Dean stopped screaming immediately, although Sam wasn’t sure if he was sleeping again or had passed out. At least he looked peaceful.

“Sit a spell,” the man said and Sam found himself sitting on the end of the bed; “and listen. “ Once he was sure he had Sam’s attention, he continued. “When you killed that Judge, afterwards you felt all that pesky guilt, all that troublesome remorse. Yet your second kill was so much easier, wasn’t it, Sammy – Sam? And the next will be easier still. You’re a weapon Sam, you’re powerful, you’re meant to kill, and you’re meant to be exactly who you are becoming.”

“And who the hell am I supposed to be?” Sam asked tetchily.

“You are one of my chosen kids; but I gotta tell you, you’re my favorite, Sam.” The yellow-eyed man grinned; “what’s inside you, it’s growing, and it’s stronger in you than in any of the others. All that rage, anger, guilt, all those dirty things you’re doing to your brother, the way you drowned that sobbing woman, the way you tortured that weeping judge. It all proves that you’re strong, you’re remorseless and you’re clever. Sammy, you’re a revelation, so much more advanced than I expected.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.” Sam persisted, trying to ignore the truth in the man’s words, which made him both fearful and proud.

“I have a special job for you sport, but not just yet,” the man replied with a wink; “you carry on your little vendetta for now, as every kill will make you stronger and you’ll need your strength.”

“Answer the fucking question!” Sam yelled in frustration, “who the hell am I supposed to be?”

“Don’t worry your shaggy little head about it, you just be who you are, Sam. The boy with the demon-blood, now becoming the man who will fulfil his destiny.”

“Demon-blood? What do you…” Sam stood up, yelling, but he was facing a blank wall; the man had gone, with nothing to show that he had been there except a faint whiff of sulphur. Sam’s head was reeling, how could he have demon blood? Was this all some sick nightmare? But the man had hurt Dean. Oh fuck, Dean!

“Hey, Dean, come on, wake up!” Sam was quickly beside Dean, shaking him, checking him over, and praying for him to open his eyes. When Dean eventually complied, Sam knew the pain had been very real, as Dean looked in shock, with huge, frightened eyes. Pale-faced and shaking, Dean’s bottom lip quivered as he looked at Sam, then he burst into tears. Sam pulled him into his arms and wept too, as much for himself as his tortured brother.

Dean eventually fell into a deep sleep but Sam couldn’t rest anymore, there was too much going around in his head. He had his arms wrapped around his brother, hating himself for failing to protect Dean, hating that he had broken his promise that no one would ever hurt him again. If he was strong and powerful as the man had said, then he should be able to keep his promises, keep Dean safe; but at what cost? What did the yellow-eyed man, a demon, Sam now guessed, want from him? Did he really have demon-blood and what did that mean? 

Sam thought about his plan to kill the worst of Dean’s many abusers and as much as he wanted to get revenge for Dean, now he was haunted by the thought that each kill would make him stronger. Yet wouldn’t he need to be strong whatever happened? To stand up against the demon and refuse to do whatever it was he wanted? 

Dean sighed in his sleep and snuggled in closer to Sam, seeking warmth and comfort.

'Look at him, look how beautiful he is, how needy. Roll him over, Sam, fuck him. You know he’ll never say no to you. You know that’s all he is now, an obedient, needy little fuck-toy…'

“No!” Sam yelled, sitting up and startling Dean into wakefulness. “Get out of my head, you bastard!”

Dean looked scared and confused but Sam couldn’t deal with him right now. He realized that the voices in his head, the ones that drove him on to violate his brother, to use him and rape him, were either from the demon or from the blood inside him.

“Fuck you! Get away from me! Leave me alone!” He screamed and Dean scrambled off the bed onto the floor, clutching the duvet to his chest as he shook with fear.

“I’m not going to play along with your sick games, d’you hear me, you sick bastard? You keep the hell away from me and away from my brother!” Sam shouted to the ceiling, his head pounding from his anger and rage. Sam still felt so full of fury that he needed to release it. He picked up a glass of water from the bedside table and hurled it at the wall, where it smashed into pieces and showered water over the wall.

Suddenly, the noise of someone wailing in distress permeated through his rage. He blinked and his eyes focused on Dean cowering on the floor, his back pressed against the wall as he shook and whimpered in terror.

Sam reached down and hauled Dean up into his arms, his rage now replaced by concern and remorse.

“Dean, it’s okay, I’m not mad at you,” he whispered as he held Dean in his arms, kissing his cheek as he stroked his back. “Please don’t be scared, I’d never hurt you, baby.” Dean clung to him, sobbing and trembling. Sam let his brother cry out his fear for a while then gently shook him. “William, stop,” he ordered and Dean took a deep breath, managing to stop crying.

Sam pushed him away and smiled at him. “Good boy, William,” he stroked Dean’s face, “Are you okay? William, are you hurt?” Dean frowned and shook his head slightly. Sam gently checked him over again and when he was convinced his brother was okay, he sighed, pulling him back into his embrace. They lay down together and Sam told Dean over and over again how much he loved him, that he would never hurt him, and that he would help him get better. Eventually, Dean’s gentle snores signaled that he was sleeping again and made Sam smile.

'He’s all yours, yours for the taking, yours to use, yours to love, yours to control.'

Sam didn’t know if these thoughts were his own or demon-induced, and he didn’t much care at the moment with Dean in his arms and exhaustion claiming him. His last thought as he drifted off to sleep was “You’re mine.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean develops a fever and Sam tries to take care of him, whilst hunting down another of Dean's abusers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting this one, it's been a hectic few weeks!

When Sam woke up the next day, he had a renewed sense of purpose. He was going to seek out as many of those evil bastards who had abused his brother as he could, and if Yellow-Eyes was telling the truth, each kill would make him stronger. He planned to be strong enough to take out Yellow-Eyes himself too, for daring to harm Dean.

Dean was lying in his arms but Sam knew he was already awake as his breathing was softer than when he was sleeping.

“Morning, Dean,” Sam gently raised Dean’s head and kissed his forehead. It felt hot to his lips and there were dark circles under Dean’s eyes. “You okay? Let’s see.” Sam frowned. As he pushed Dean onto his back Dean gave a little groan of pain. “I need to check you out, okay? I don’t know what that piece of shit did to you.” Sam ran his hands over Dean’s torso and Dean watched solemnly, biting his bottom lip in a way that made Sam want to roll him over and fuck him hard, but he had to ensure Dean was okay first.

Sam sighed wearily. He had poked and prodded Dean all over and he hadn’t given any sign of pain; yet he had groaned and was looking feverish. “William, where does it hurt?”

Dean blinked at him, looking like he was trying to translate Sam’s words from gobbledygook to English. “Please…”

“It’s okay, just tell me. William, is it your head?” Sam pointed at Dean’s head.

Dean nodded then groaned again, "Please, please, sir.”

“You stay there. I’ll get you some painkillers,” Sam said as he rose from the bed; “I’m not sure if you should have them with your other meds but I guess a few won’t hurt. I’m not surprised your head aches after the night we had.” He looked down at Dean who was now a strange combination of pale and flushed.

Sam smiled at him as he put his hand to Dean’s forehead. “You have a temperature, too. You’ll be okay, baby, I’m gonna take care of you.” Sam knew Dean wasn’t following anything, so he added “William, rest,” and Dean’s tense body relaxed a little, his head nestling into the pillows.

Dean yawned and smiled sleepily at Sam. It made Sam feel better that Dean seemed to trust him now. Sam gave him two painkillers along with his usual meds and sat by the bed, stroking Dean’s hair until he drifted off to sleep again.

Sam made himself a pot of coffee and got out the laptop to select his next target. It didn’t take long for him to choose him; Judge Harris had helpfully labelled folders with chilling titles such as ‘blindfold’, ‘whipping’, ‘manhandling’ and ‘CBT’. Sam opened ‘manhandling’ and watched a guy pushing Dean around, grabbing him and forcing him to kneel or roll over. He didn’t really hurt Dean and was almost gentle when he fucked his face and then his ass. He might let that one live.

The next guy, however, was a huge ugly brute. He was taller than Dean, probably Sam’s height, but he was easily twice his size, bulked up with muscles and covered in tattoos. He began by slapping Dean around the face, then blindfolded and gagged him. He left Dean kneeling for several minutes as he prowled around, removing his clothes to reveal even more muscles and a tattoo of a dragon that ran from his shoulder down his arm, with the face tattooed onto his right hand. Across his chest there was another dragon, its wings outstretched and below it was the word POWER.

He stopped in front of Dean and struck him hard around the head, knocking him to the ground and crouching down to turn him onto his back. Dean whimpered in fear and pain as the man pushed his legs up; he dropped them and moved his hand to Dean’s throat squeezing it.

“Keep your fucking mouth shut, you filthy whore,” the man snarled and Sam felt intense fury, not just at the physical abuse, but because he knew Dean didn’t understand the command.

Dean gasped around the gag as the man relinquished his hold on his throat and Sam could clearly see the finger marks on Dean’s pale skin. He moved down and held Dean’s legs easily with one large hand as he spat onto Dean’s hole and ran his finger around the rim. Sam felt sick – he wasn’t going to fuck Dean without any lube, was he? The guy still had his boxers on but Sam could see that he was massive; there was no way he could get that thing inside Dean without tearing him.

Sam almost gave a sigh of relief when the guy reached over to the table by Dean’s bed and grabbed the lube. He coated his fingers and thumb, and then slid his thumb inside Dean. Dean groaned at the intrusion and the man looked angry. He shoved his large thumb in and out of Dean’s hole, making Dean moan louder, then he pulled his hand away and brought it down hard and fast on Dean’s ass.

“Told you to keep quiet, you fucking whore!” He slapped Dean several times making him cry out in pain. “Shut the fuck up! What the hell’s wrong with you? You wanna test me boy, you like pain?”

A tinny voice cut in from the intercom. “The boy doesn’t understand you. We told you to give clear short instructions. You need to say William, silence.”

“What the fuck? You a fucking foreigner boy? You don’t speaka de English?” He chuckled as he gripped Dean’s throat again and shook him. “Okay, let’s see if it works. William, silence.” He pinched Dean’s left nipple and Dean’s body went rigid but he kept silent. Sam could see tears running down Dean’s face from behind the gag now. He was going to make the sadistic fucker pay for this.

“Good boy!” The man grinned and resumed fingering Dean’s hole, thrusting two thick fingers in and out now. Dean stayed silent but Sam could tell he was sobbing by the way his chest hitched and his chin trembled. Standing up, the man pulled off his boxers, his large and fully hard cock springing up, and Sam shuddered at the thought of that thing going inside his brother. He placed his large right foot on Dean’s chest while he rolled a condom onto his cock and lubed it up. His foot was just resting on Dean, more as a sign of control than to cause pain, but Dean struggled underneath it.

“Keep still, you useless fucking whore!” he grumbled and moved his foot away, giving Dean a kick in the ribs. Dean couldn’t stifle his yelp of pain and the man laughed. “I’ll let you have that one, boy.”

He moved to kneel between Dean’s legs and pushed them back again, holding them with one large paw as he used the other to guide himself into Dean. Whimpering quietly, Dean was muffled by the gag as the man drove his huge cock further inside him. It seemed to go on for hours although Sam knew it was just minutes before the man gave a hard thrust and was as far inside Dean as humanly possible. Dean couldn’t stop the groan of pain as the huge cock filled him so completely.

The man was gripping onto Dean’s thighs and laughing at his discomfort. He continued to thrust in and out of Dean, before pulling out to remove the condom and coming all over Dean’s stomach. As Dean trembled and sobbed, the guy pulled the gag down to expose his mouth. Running his fingers over the come, he pushed them between Dean’s lips. Dean knew the ropes, no doubt having licked come from fingers countless times, and lapped at the man’s fingers until they were clean.

“Fuck you’re good at that boy! Your tongue felt so good round my fingers, gonna feel fucking amazing round my cock!” The man grinned.  
Sam could see the man was almost hard again and he wanted to switch off, he knew enough now to justify killing him as painfully as possible, yet he had to see. 'You wanna see what he does to Dean, how much Dean loves it, being used and abused.'

The guy stood up, hauling Dean upright by the gag and twisting it to choke him. Dean swayed as his airway was restricted and Sam knew he’d collapse if the man wasn’t holding him upright. He looked so small and vulnerable next to the huge man, which was shocking as Dean was over 6 foot tall and although he was too thin, he was still fairly muscular, The guy finally loosened his hold and Dean took a deep breath, only to have his mouth filled with the man’s cock. He pushed in hard and fast leaving Dean gagging; drool running down his chin, hands flailing in distress. Pulling out, he let Dean take a shaky breath before shoving back inside again. And again. And again.

By the time he’d finished Dean was gasping for breath and when the man let go of the tie he collapsed heavily to the ground. There was no respite as he was grabbed once again and rolled onto his front as the guy lifted his ass up, keeping Dean in position while he rolled on another condom, then fucking him again from behind. Dean tried unsuccessfully to bite back his moans of pain and arousal as the guy came with a roar of satisfaction, and rolled Dean over once more, jerking him off until he came over his own stomach with a pained scream. Licking up the come, the man moved up to kiss Dean, forcing his mouth open and Sam knew he had dropped his load of come into Dean’s mouth.

The man grabbed the tie and pulled Dean’s head a few inches from the floor, “You’re fucking awesome, little whore; gonna see you again.” He twisted the tie until Dean went limp and then let his head fall to the ground with a dull thump. “Fucking awesome!”

Rising from his chair, Sam checked Dean, who was sleeping peacefully. He wiped angry tears from his eyes as he looked at his brother. He felt guilty too, as his cock had hardened as he watched Dean’s violation and he hated himself for that. 'But he looks so pretty when he cries.'

Sam wanted to throttle the guy with his bare hands, but he knew he would have to plan this one; the guy was freaking huge, so it wasn’t going to be easy. He sipped his cold coffee as he searched the files for the guy’s name, and soon found it; Bob Rossiter. There was no address, but luckily a search of the internet revealed only one man with that name in the local area.

He roused Dean, who was still sweating and looking ill, to give him lunch and then let him go back to bed. He gave him an extra sedative as he knew he would be out tracking Rossiter for a few hours.

Rossiter’s house was surprisingly large and well kept. Sam sat watching from the road for a while and was shocked to see a very pretty woman drive up and park outside, then get two small children out of the car. He hadn’t expected the bastard to be married nor to have kids. Fuck. It didn’t matter, he was still going to die; he was still going to suffer.

He kept watch and an hour later a truck appeared with “Rossiter Building Works” emblazoned on the side. So he had his own company, whoopee doo for him. Sam sighed wearily as he thought of ways he could despatch this piece of shit. He could break into the house like it was a robbery and shoot him, but that would be too quick and painless, also he didn’t want to involve Rossiter’s family.

An hour or so later, Rossiter appeared wearing a tracksuit and climbed into the truck. Sam followed him to the local gym and once he had entered, Sam did too, going to the reception area to ask about signing up.

“You’re new in town, sir?” the pretty blonde receptionist asked.

“Yep, need to get in shape.” Sam patted his flat stomach and she laughed.

“Your shape looks fine to me, sir!” She smiled at him.

Just then a familiar voice spoke from behind him. “You came to the right place, dude! Fucking fantastic gym, state of the art equipment.”

The receptionist rolled her eyes and let the man take over the conversation.

Sam suppressed a shudder as he turned to face Rossiter.

“I’m Bob, I’m here most evenings. You need any help you ask me, okay?” He smiled, looking friendly and held out his hand.

“Sure, thanks Bob. I’m Tony, Tony Davies.” Sam shook his hand, wanting nothing more than to punch him.

They exchanged small talk and arranged for Sam to join Bob the next evening at the gym. Sam left with a wink at the receptionist and a knot of rage in his stomach.

Driving back to the cabin, he was in such a temper that he had to pull over and get out of the car, to scream into the empty woods, to kick the tyres and punch the roof until some of his frustration had passed.

 

Sam opened the door and made his way to the bedroom where he found that Dean had been sick. He was lying on his back, arm resting in a pool of smelly vomit; it was all over the bed and the floor next to the bed, as well as all over Dean’s chest and face. Sam was scared for a moment that Dean had choked on it, but a quick check revealed that his pulse was strong even though his body was on fire.

Sam cleaned Dean up a little with a sheet, then lifted him easily to carry him into the shower. He woke up as Sam gently placed him on the floor, briefly looking scared until he saw Sam. At that moment he burst into tears and held his head, wailing pitifully.

“You still got a bad head, baby?” Sam said gently, “let’s clean you up and then you can sleep some more, okay?”

Sam realized he was crying too; he hated seeing Dean ill and in pain, and the image of what Rossiter had done to him was still fresh in his mind too.

Washing away the remnants of the vomit from Dean’s body, he then washed his hair and listened to Dean sigh as he relaxed back against the wall under the cool spray.

Once Dean was clean and dry, Sam laid him on the couch and switched the TV on for him. He was asleep before the first ad break and Sam slumped into the chair next to him.

“Fuck, Dean, what am I gonna do?” he asked his sleeping brother. “How am I gonna get Rossiter to pay for all he did to you?”

Dean whimpered and Sam could clearly hear Rossiter snarling at him to keep quiet. Reaching out, he felt Dean’s forehead and was shocked to feel that Dean was still burning up. He went outside and rummaged in the shed, finding an old electric fan which he brought inside, setting it up so that it was blowing across Dean’s flushed face and sweating body.

“I think you got the flu, baby. You sleep as much as you can.” Sam said as he tenderly stroked Dean’s fevered face.

 

The rest of the evening and quite a lot of the night was spent with Sam holding a bucket for Dean to puke into, making him drink water, and washing him down. By 5am, however, Dean was finally sleeping peacefully and his temperature had gone down a little. 'Look at him, sleeping like a baby, so perfect, so vulnerable, so needy. Yours.'

Sam slept for a few hours then woke up to daylight around 9am, going straight out for a run, as it always helped to clear his head. He had a plan now and nothing was going to stop him from carrying it out.

He met Rossiter that evening and after their gym session, Sam suggested they went for a drink. Rossiter hesitated briefly saying “the little lady” expected him home but they were soon at the bar nearest the gym, Sam pretending to need advice about where to buy in the area.  
He had slipped a roofie into Rossiter’s second beer and when the huge man started to sway and look disorientated, Sam helpfully agreed to drive him home.

Driving a little way out of town, Sam waited until they were on a quiet side road where he pulled over. He got out the rope from the bottom of his duffel and tied Bob securely to the truck seat, tying his legs together at the bottom of the seat too, so he couldn’t kick out. He tied a blindfold around the man’s head and added a gag across his mouth.

Afterwards, he slapped Rossiter’s face and stood back to enjoy the big man’s panic as he realized he couldn’t see or move “Wha’ the fuck!” he muttered from behind the gag.

“Hey there, Bob!” Sam grinned, picking up his knife.

“Wha’ you wan’?” Rossiter asked, in muffled concern.

“I want you to be quiet.” Sam sliced the man’s meaty neck a little, enough to sting.

“Ow! Fuck you, you ‘ucking psycho!” he growled through the gag.

Sam slapped him hard around the face again. “Quiet, you piece of shit!”

“Screw you!”

Sam thrust his knife into Rossiter’s right thigh in response, twisting it for good measure; smiling as the man screamed.

“You’re not so good at keeping quiet, are you?” Sam chuckled.

“Wha’ d’you want, you fucking freak?”

Sam plunged the knife into Rossiter’s left thigh this time, once again enjoying the sound of the man’s pained howls.

“You keep quiet or I’ll slice your throat open and leave you to bleed out.”

Rossiter gave a mutter then fell silent, breathing heavily and clearly trying to loosen the ropes. Picking up his dirty gym shirt, Sam held it over Rossiter’s nose, cutting off his air supply for a few seconds. The man struggled as much as he could and when Sam withdrew the shirt he was pleased to see tears running down the man’s ugly face.

“It’s not pleasant to have your air supply cut off is it, Bob?” Sam asked. When there was no response he pushed down gently on the cuts on his thighs, watching intently as Rossiter shook his head and muttered.

“You’re supposed to be quiet, remember?”

“Fuck you, just fucking kill me, you sick fuck!” Rossiter snarled out from behind the gag.

“I can see you need some further incentives to keep your fucking mouth shut!” Sam said calmly, as he ran the tip of the knife along his jaw line. “And you need to know why I’m doing this.”

Rossiter kept as quiet as he could and Sam could almost hear the man’s heart beating frantically.

“You see, I’m not a psychopath. I’m not hurting you because I like it; this is revenge.” Sam ran the tip of the knife down the man’s sweat-covered neck, leaving a faint line on his skin. “You hurt my brother, you ordered him to be silent. You choked him and you laughed at his pain and fear.”

Sam moved the knife up and sliced away the blindfold. Rossiter’s pale blue eyes looked frightened and Sam got a small thrill from the power he wielded over this huge bully of a man.

“You raped him, you abused him.” Sam stared in distaste at the man. “You’re going to pay.” Sam pulled the gag from Rossiter’s mouth and around his neck.

“I don’t know your brother. I ain’t never hurt anyone like that,” Rossiter babbled frantically; “you got the wrong guy.”

“I saw you on video at The Brothel.” Sam replied, slicing the sleeve off of Rossiter’s right arm, revealing the snake tattoo. He sliced down the scales of the snakes, watching the blood pool as the man stifled his scream.

“You mad fucker, let me go!” He growled.

“His name is Dean, but you knew him as William.” Sam snarled as he raised the blood stained knife and held it in front of the man’s terrified face. “William, silent.” Sam sneered, grabbing the gag and twisting it, making the man choke again. Eventually he released him and let him gasp in some air.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know he had family, they said he was just some no-good punk kid!”

Sam plunged the knife into the man’s right thigh again. “How does that make it right? You fucking sadistic prick! That’s what they both said, that they thought Dean had no family. So it would be okay to abuse him and rape him and fucking terrorize him?”

“I’m sorry!” The man was sobbing now, his face contorted in pain.

“I think you are sorry,” Sam replied; “but that you’re only sorry for yourself, because you know I’m going to kill you.” Sam grabbed the gag again and this time when he tightened it he didn’t let go. Rossiter’s face turned a deep shade of red and his eyes bulged as he fought for air. Finally his body crumpled despite the ropes binding him to the seat.

When Sam released the man, he knew by the shocked staring eyes that he was dead.

Sam drove the truck further away from the main road and then into a small forested area, hiding it as well as he could. He covered the tyre tracks and half jogged, half-walked back to town to retrieve his car. He felt calm and almost happy as he drove back to the cabin. That was one fucker who would never hurt anyone again.

His happiness was short lived as, when he got back to the cabin, he found Dean lying awake, shaking and sweating profusely, his eyes too wide and too bright.

“Oh fuck, Dean!” Sam grabbed his brother and hugged him “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left you alone, I thought you were getting better!”

“S…Sam? Sammy?” Dean whispered and Sam could barely believe what he had heard. He pushed Dean away to look at him.

“Dean?”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's condition worsens and Sam seeks Bobby's help; meanwhile Yellow-Eyes pays Sam another visit.

“Sammy, where’ve you been?” Dean asked as he stared wide-eyed at Sam. It was the first time Dean had said his name and Sam wanted to cry.

“Dean, you okay?” Sam managed to ask in response.

“Dad’s out looking for ya, he’s real pissed!” Dean said, both angry and relieved.

“Dad?” Sam asked stupidly, as his heart sank with the realization that this was a hallucination.

“Why’d you run off like that, Sammy?” Dean frowned, his voice husky from emotion; “I was so fucking worried!”

“It’s okay, Dean, I’m back now,” Sam said gently, holding Dean’s hands in his own. “You should get some rest.”

“Dad was so mad, he…he…well, it don’t matter what he did, ‘cause it was all my fault, I know that. I should’ve been here, shouldn't have left you…” Dean rambled on, lost in his own vision.

Sam remembered the occasion now, he was twelve and he was pissed with Dad for telling them they would be leaving the latest town the next day. He had just settled into the school, made some friends and started to feel normal. Waiting for Dean to go out for some food, he had sneaked out, spending the day in the library and hiding in the toilet when it closed, sleeping fitfully on a bench, and eating nothing but candy bars.

It was the realization that he had no money and no place to go that drove him back to their motel. And he missed Dean, although he’d never admit that to his annoying yet wonderful big brother. Sam had seen a bruise on the side of Dean’s face that day and he knew Dad had hit him, but Dean denied it, of course. He told Sam he’d slipped in the shower.

“Dean, it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know I was gonna be a selfish little prick and hide away,” Sam said gently as Dean’s tired eyes stared at him. Sam wasn’t sure if Dean was seeing him now or his bratty twelve-year-old self. “You should get some rest,” he repeated, stroking Dean’s arm.

“Yeah, I’m real tired. But Sammy…” Dean grabbed Sam’s wrist and looked at him with wide, frightened eyes.

“Yeah, Dean, what is it?” Sam coaxed.

“Please…please don’t leave me, don’t ever leave me again, promise…” Dean’s eyelids battled to stay open as he fought his fatigue.

“I promise, Dean,” Sam smiled at him sadly. This was the first conversation they’d had since he rescued Dean and it wasn’t even real. It was just a memory and not a happy one.

Dean sighed and lay back down on the bed. He returned Sam’s smile saying, “You’re a pain in the ass but you’re all I got, little brother.”

“I love you too, big brother,” Sam whispered, as Dean closed his eyes.

“You’re such a girl, Samantha,” Dean muttered, before he gave in to sleep, still smiling.

Sam showered and climbed into bed next to Dean, pulling him into his arms. He was shocked by how hot Dean’s body was.

Sam was so exhausted he just pushed the covers back and held Dean as he fell asleep. It was a restless night for both of them as Dean’s fever caused him to have nightmares and hallucinations, alternately sweating and shivering.

Over the course of the night, Sam sponged Dean down several times, always being sure to make him drink water.

By the morning Sam was exhausted and Dean’s condition was worse. He was boiling hot but shivering, moaning in pain and not responding to anything Sam said; Sam even tried giving orders to ‘William’, but that didn’t work.

Eventually Sam did the only thing he could to help Dean; he phoned Bobby. Bobby responded by telling Sam he was a fucking idjit and to get Dean to his place pronto.

Packing up his few belongings and the Judge’s laptop, Sam stowed them all in the trunk of the car. Then he dressed Dean in a clean t-shirt and sweatpants, alarmed by how lax his brother’s body was, and realizing that Dean was almost unconscious. 'You could do anything you like to him now; of course, you’ve been doing that for days…'

“Fuck off!” Sam spat out at the voice inside his head, adding a frantic plea to his brother; “Shit, c’mon Dean, don’t pass out on me!”

Dean’s body was completely limp as Sam picked him up, and in a way Sam was relieved as that enabled him to load Dean the car easily. Maneuvering Dean onto the back seat, he covered him with a blanket and wound down the window to let in some fresh air. It was a long drive to Sioux Falls, but Sam knew there was no other option; he couldn’t turn up at the local hospital as Dean’s face had been all over the news as the ‘missing’ Brothel Boy. 

After driving for an hour, he heard Dean start to moan in his sleep and thrash around. A moment later, Dean started screaming in terror and managed to fall off the back seat.

Sam almost swerved the car at the first piercing scream, and quickly found a place to pull over. Jumping out of the car, he swiftly opened the back door and hauled Dean up onto the seat. Dean’s breathing was way too fast; he was having a full blown panic attack. Sam slapped his face and shook him, but Dean was trapped in a fevered nightmare and Sam was helpless to help him. Grabbing a bottle of water, he splashed it in Dean’s face, making him stop for a moment, blinking at Sam in shock.

A moment later, his face turned white and he started to gag, so Sam pulled him upright just in time for Dean to vomit all over himself and Sam.

“Oh shit, shit!” Sam held Dean upright as he started to vomit again, but this time very little came up and Sam gently laid him against the back seat to give him some water.

Dean’s eyes fluttered closed and Sam sighed, laying his brother back down so he could clean them up as best he could with an old t-shirt and a bottle of water. Sitting back behind the wheel, Sam was unsure what to do. The smell in the car was awful, and made him feel nauseous too. He had to get Dean to Bobby’s but he also knew he couldn’t take the risk of Dean vomiting again and choking before Sam could stop.

Climbing out of the car, Sam kept an eye on Dean all the while as he phoned Bobby once more. Bobby ranted at Sam for not telling him how sick Dean really was, and that he was as dumb as they come for trying to drive hundreds of miles with Dean in his condition. Then he sighed, softening his voice as he knew Sam was feeling bad enough already, and told him to find the nearest motel. Sam promised to give Bobby the address so he could get there as soon as possible.

Sam was equally chastened and relieved after speaking to Bobby and checked that Dean was still sleeping before climbing behind the wheel and starting the car again. Luckily, there was a motel a few miles down the road; it looked neglected and almost derelict, but the sign was lit up and there were a few cars in the parking bays. 

“Well, we've stayed in worse places,” Sam said to his sleeping brother. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Sam registered with a barely civil teenage girl, who seemed most put out that she had to stop texting to serve a guest and made no effort to hide her disgust at the lingering smell of vomit emanating from Sam’s clothes. He drove the car over to park outside their room and opened the door, taking in the smell of stale cigarette smoke and greasy food. There were two good-sized beds however, and the room looked fairly clean. He carried Dean through the door and laid him on the nearest bed, stripping him down to his boxers so that he could sponge his feverish body down. Dean didn’t make any sound or move at all, but his breathing was steady and Sam took some small comfort from that.  
Sam didn’t bother dressing Dean again; he just pulled a sheet over him and then changed his own clothes, grateful to get rid of the stench. He bundled their soiled clothing into a black sack and left it outside the door. Sam was hungry and wanted a shower, but those things could wait until Bobby arrived. Sam muttered “oh crap!” as he realized he hadn’t told Bobby the address yet so quickly texted it to him.

Sam sat on the bed next to Dean’s and looked over at his brother. He knew this was his fault, that he should’ve taken Dean straight to Bobby’s. Now Dean was really sick and they were stuck in a moldy motel room. He jumped in surprise when his cell rang and he was pleased to see Bobby’s name appear.

“I’m flying out, boy. Be the quickest way,” Bobby informed him.

“But you hate airports…”

“Who said anything about airports? I got a buddy who flies those crop sprayers, he owes me.”

“Of course you do!” Sam chuckled.

“Be with you in around six hours. Keep him hydrated and cool,” Bobby said before ending the call.

Moving over to sit on Dean’s bed, Sam carefully shifted him so his head was elevated on the pillows.

“Dean, can you hear me?” he asked as he shook Dean’s shoulder gently. “I have to give you some water, c’mon, help me out here.”

Dean’s head rolled and he gave a little grunt; Sam lightly patted his cheek and spoke to him again.

“Dean, please; you gotta have something to drink.” Sam was rewarded this time when a pair of bleary eyes blinked open.

“Suh-Sam? Sammy?” Dean whispered.

“Yeah, it’s me, Dean; I gotcha, can you drink this for me?” Sam held the bottle of water to Dean’s lips, smiling as Dean managed a few sips before his head flopped back against the pillows.

“M’tired, Sammy,” Dean mumbled, “don’t feel so good, where’s Dad?”

Sam sighed as he stroked Dean’s flushed face. “He’ll be here soon, don’t you worry.”

“He’s gonna be mad…it’s my fault...” Dean said as his eyes closed and he was soon asleep again.

Sam sponged Dean down once more before laying down next to him on the bed. Dean had rolled up on his side and Sam stroked his back tenderly.

“I’m sorry, baby, this is my fault,” Sam whispered, then something occurred to him; “no, it’s not just my fault. Dad should have spent the last three years looking for you, not hunting some fucking monster. Mom would’ve wanted you found, wanted you safe, she would have wanted that more than revenge!” Sam’s voice had risen in anger and Dean whimpered in his sleep. “Hey, it’s alright, you just rest, baby, it’s all gonna be alright,” Sam said soothingly.

Sam lay next to Dean thinking about his dad; how he had raised them both as soldiers rather than sons, especially Dean. He had barely given Dean any chance of a childhood, expecting and demanding so much from him. Dean had always done whatever John commanded; the only times he ever stood up to their father were for Sam, never for himself. Dean had always obeyed his dad and looked after his brother; he had sacrificed himself for his family, and in return they hadn’t bothered to look hard enough for him. Sam got up and paced the floor.

It hit him hard that Dean’s feverish memories were of Sam running away and Dad being mad with him; out of all that had happened in Dean’s troubled and chaotic life, his brain had randomly selected this memory. Sam wondered why and with a heavy heart, realized he knew; it had been the first time he had ever left Dean.

He stopped pacing to check Dean; he was still far too hot and mumbling incoherently in his sleep. Sam washed him down again and roused him enough to give him more water; then he lay down once more beside Dean and gave in to sleep.

“You know, if Bobby gets his hands on the kid your fun and games will be over, doncha sport?” A familiar voice woke him and he sat up angrily.

“Fuck off! Leave us alone, you bastard!” Sam spat out, reaching across to his duffel to get a weapon, any weapon.

“Looking for this?” the Yellow-Eyed demon grinned as he held up Sam’s duffel; “you need to know nothing in here can kill me. There’s only one thing on earth that can and you ain’t got it.”

“What do you want?” Sam asked, edging closer to Dean to provide what little protection he could.

“Relax, I’m not gonna hurt pretty-boy. I just wanna talk, Sammy.” The demon grinned again and Sam wanted to rip his face off. “I need you angry; I need you full of rage and I need you strong.”

“I need you to fuck off, but we don’t always get what we want,” Sam snarled back.

“You love your big brother, pitiful shell of a man that he is, and you wanna keep him,” the demon said casually, stating a fact that Sam couldn’t deny. “If Uncle Bobby takes him home, he’ll wanna heal him, and then you lose your plaything.”

“You shut your mouth about my brother.” Sam growled.

“Truth hurts don’t it?” the demon chuckled, edging closer to the bed, his eyes moving from Sam to Dean. “You tell yourself you love him and you want him back, but you know Dean would never lie back and let you fuck him, so part of you wants to keep him drugged up and…compliant.”

“Shut up!” Sam stood up, facing the smirking demon and moving his attention away from Dean.

“I have a solution for you, Sammy-Sam. Let the old hunter get Dean all better – well, as much as he can - who knows if Dean’s crazy brain will ever be fully functional again?” He shrugged. “Then you use a little spell on him, which will allow you to keep using him…”

Sam tried to ignore the affect the demon’s words were having, but he wanted what he was being offered so badly. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’m not playing this game. Just get the hell outta here!” he said angrily.

“Or what? How you gonna make me?” the demon smirked. “I’m trying to help you here, buddy.”

Sam was suddenly lifted off his feet and thrown down onto the empty bed. He tried to speak but his mouth wouldn’t work. As Sam struggled against the invisible force immobilizing him, the demon walked over to Dean and smiled down at him. Watching helplessly, Sam screamed inside his head “don’t you touch him, don’t hurt him!”

Dean was awake, his body twitching fitfully as he stared in terror at the demon. “Rest,” he said almost gently to Dean and Sam saw his brother’s shaking body relax, heard his labored breathing quieten down and saw his face change from distressed to peaceful.  
The demon turned his attention back to Sam,” Now Sleeping Beauty’s not gonna distract us, let’s get this done.”

The demon moved from Dean to Sam and touched Sam’s forehead. A surge of power ran through Sam’s body and he knew he was at the demon’s mercy; unable to resist, unable to fight, unable to escape. The smell of sulphur grew stronger and the demon’s eyes glowed brighter still as he started to recite an incantation.

Sam screamed as the words invaded his mind. It was like they were being seared into his brain and it was sheer agony. He had no idea how long it took for the demon to complete his spell, or what he had said; all Sam knew was pain. He must have passed out, as the demon was sitting on Dean’s bed wearing his usual smirk when he came to.

“And he’s back! Don’t try to move, champ,” he said as he saw Sam struggling uselessly; “you’ll be fine in an hour or so. Now, I gotta run; souls to torment, deals to make, same old same old.” He gave a melodramatic sigh. “But when the time is right, Sammy, you’ll be able to control your big bro and you won’t need to use drugs. You’ll be able to make him do whatever you want; now don’t that sound like a real blast?” He turned to look down at Dean and ran his hand over Dean’s naked chest.

“No!” Sam managed to yell, fighting against the demon’s power that still held him.

“Don’t fret Sammy, Dean’s all yours!” the demon winked at Sam and disappeared. 

Sam tried to move but his limbs were still leaden. Eventually he stopped struggling to look over at Dean and was relieved to see him still sleeping peacefully. Sam dozed for a while before trying again to move. This time he was successful and stood up, his first instinct to check on Dean. 

Dean no longer looked peaceful or relaxed. He was sweating and his body was shivering as he whimpered in pain.

“Oh fuck, fuck,” Sam muttered, “the fucking bastard ended both the spells the same time. Shit, I’m sorry Dean, I gotcha…”

Sam was wiping Dean’s sweat-covered face when he heard the rumble of an engine. He ran to the door and opened it to see Bobby climbing off a big old Harley. He laughed at the sight in relief and surprise; he had never seen Bobby ride a bike before, but he had seen the look of disdain Bobby was giving him before.

“Somethin’ funny?” Bobby snarled; “Did ya think the plane would land right outside this motel?” When he got to Sam, he pulled him into a bear-hug and Sam realized he was crying. “It’s okay boy, we’ll fix him up, you quit your frettin’, now.”

“S-sorry Bobby…” Sam sniffed, pulling away from the older man and rubbing his tears away with his fists. “I’m just so pleased to see you, it’s been real hard.”

Bobby nodded in acknowledgement before entering the room to see to Dean.

“Holy shit Sam, he’s burning up!” He exclaimed and picked up the wet cloth Sam had been using to wipe the sweat from Dean’s forehead.

“Dad?” Dean muttered, “M’sorry, please…please don’t…”

“It’s alright boy, you’re safe,” Bobby said gruffly.

Dean’s body went rigid and his eyes rolled back into his head.

“Shit, he’s seizing!” Bobby rolled Dean onto his side and into the recovery position, just in time as Dean started to vomit again. “Sam, we gotta get his temperature down, let’s get him into the bathroom.”

Sam lifted Dean easily and Bobby opened the bathroom door, sighing with relief when he saw that the shower was over a small bathtub. “Thank heaven for small mercies.”

Sam laid Dean in the tub and Bobby turned on the water, testing it with his hands. “We don’t want it too cold, it needs to be tepid,” he muttered and Sam knew he was freaking out as much as Sam, but trying to hold it together.

Once he was satisfied with the water temperature, he handed the shower head to Sam and told him to keep it on Dean, then he promptly disappeared back into the motel’s main room.

Dean had begun to shiver and sob pathetically, and Sam muttered soothing words as the tub filled up around him. Once it was as full as possible, Dean relaxed into the tepid water, his head lolling against the wall.

Sam didn’t know what Bobby was doing, but he could hear him moving around the motel room, and when the older man eventually returned, he sighed in relief when he saw that Dean looked a little better. 

“How in hell did you let him get this bad?” Bobby hissed at Sam.

“I thought he had the flu, I didn’t know how sick he was,” Sam replied; “I don’t know what…”

“It’s the medication, ya moron.” Bobby leaned against the wall, looking exhausted; “if you’d taken some time to research his symptoms you’d have known. I assumed you’d done that, but I guess you’ve been too fucking busy with your killing spree.”

“You’ve been keeping tabs on me then, Bobby?” Sam growled, angry with himself as much as with Bobby. “You know every one of them deserved to die for what they did to Dean,”

“Perhaps they did, but your priority shoulda been your brother, dammit!” Bobby glowered at Sam, his voice raised in anger.

Dean’s eyes fluttered open and he started to mutter. Sam stroked his damp hair and whispered, “It’s okay Dean, no one’s mad at you, just you rest now.” Sam looked up at Bobby. “Can we finish this later?”

“I’m gonna go get some food and alcohol. Keep him in there until I get back,” Bobby said before departing the small bathroom.

When he returned Dean was resting peacefully, still in the cool bath water. Bobby and Sam lifted him out between them and once he was dry and settled in the bed, Bobby hooked him up to an IV to re-hydrate him. 

“Thanks, Bobby. I don’t know what I’d have done without you,” Sam said as they both watched Dean sleeping peacefully.

“The kid’s badly dehydrated; the fluids should help sort him out,” Bobby answered. “Let’s eat,” he added, moving over to the small table. He had picked up some Chinese food, beers and a bottle of Jack. Sam popped open a beer for both of them and they sat at the table, eating in silence for a while.

“You’re so much like your Daddy, I can see now why you two butted heads so damned much,” Bobby said without preamble as he finished his meal.

“I’m nothing like him!” Sam protested, keeping his voice low to avoid disturbing Dean.

“He put looking for the thing that killed your ma above raising you boys,” Bobby replied bitterly; “he trailed you round the country like extra luggage, never letting you settle anywhere. He’s obsessed with revenge and you’re just the same.”

“The thing that killed mom is fucking dangerous, Bobby. Once Dad kills it other people will be safe!” Sam said, surprising himself by defending his Dad.

“Then that makes you worse,” Bobby sighed; “you ain’t killing these people – people, Sam – ‘cause they’re dangerous, but purely for revenge!”

“Fuck you!” Sam slammed his fist on the small table and stood up. “You don’t know what they did to him! I love him; I’m doing it for him!”

“If you loved him, you’d have taken better care of him.” Bobby said, glancing over at Dean. “Nothing you have done has helped him so far and while you’ve been out seeking revenge he’s been getting real sick right in front of you. If you’d taken five minutes to check, you’d have realized that drugs bought from the ‘net are notorious for being sub-standard, causing bad reactions, even death!” Bobby ran his hand over his thinning hair. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Sam?”

Sam knew Bobby was right, he’d let Dean down so badly, but he couldn’t face the fact, or the mixture of rage and pity in Bobby’s eyes. “I gotta get some air. You’ll stay with Dean?”

“Do you really have to ask?” Bobby sighed.

Sam left the motel thinking, “what the fuck is wrong with me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to my gorgeous betas dizzojay and somersault_j for weaving their magic and making this story so much better.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam seeks comfort at a local bar while Bobby stays with Dean. The yellow-eyed demon visits Sam with some disturbing information about some hunters who visited The Brothel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> •Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Sam and Dean or any others mentioned. I will not make any profit from this story.
> 
> •Thanks once again to my wonderful betas dizzojay and somersault_j for working their magic to make this story so much better and for all their support. 
> 
> •Sorry for the delay with this chapter, I was unwell and not up to writing much. The next chapter is almost complete, however!

Sam closed the door behind him, resisting the impulse to slam it like a petulant teen as he didn’t want to disturb Dean. He leaned against the closed door for a moment, just breathing the fresh air as he decided what to do. He was so wound up and he needed to do something; to punch someone or fuck someone, and as he couldn’t fuck Dean right now - or punch Bobby, much as he wanted to, he had to get away.

He drove further into the small town and found a bar. It was fairly busy and he edged through to the bar to order a beer, taking in the clientele. It was mainly men, watching a game on a large screen up on the far wall, with a handful of women sitting among them, looking like bored wives or girlfriends. Sitting on a bar stool, he stared at the screen, not caring who was playing, trying to get his mind off the cycle of guilt and rage he was stuck on.

“All on your lonesome, honey?” A woman’s voice purred in his ear and he turned to see an attractive brunette in her thirties. Wearing a low-cut blouse and a very short skirt, she was eyeing him up with obvious interest. He returned her smile. “You look stressed,” she stated; “maybe I can help?”

“Maybe,” he nodded; “but let me get you a drink first.”

“Sure, there’s no rush. What’s your name, handsome?” She smiled as she perched on the stool next to him.

“Dean,” Sam said automatically, not even knowing why; “Yours?”

“Crystal,” she grinned.

“I doubt that’s what your mama called you,” Sam chuckled; “What would you like, ma’am?”

“Oh a young man with manners, my luck is in tonight!” She giggled, “I’ll have a beer too, thanks.”

Sam spent some time chatting with Crystal, whose real name was Chrissie. She was 32, her husband had died a year ago and she had two small kids, not much money and too many bills to pay. Sam liked her as she was refreshingly honest and down-to-earth. Her mama had never approved of Chrissie’s late husband and had just known the no good loser would get drunk and smash his car into a wall. Of course the insurance wouldn’t pay out as he had been drinking; but she said he had been a good dad, and a good husband to her in his own way. Sam hadn’t asked her to elaborate.

“So now we live with my mama, she looks after the kids while I work the bar,” she whispered theatrically, “and my mama thinks I actually do bar work!”

Sam laughed with her and found himself telling her over their second beers about his brother being sick and feeling responsible, keeping the story simple. She stroked his arm, telling him he shouldn’t feel bad, it wasn’t his fault. Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a conversation with someone other than his victims or with Bobby. It felt refreshingly normal and he already felt less tense.

“So, Dean, do you have somewhere we can go?” She asked, her hand resting on his arm; “or we can use the back room here…”

“Um, no, I have a motel room but it’s a few miles back and, well, my brother’s there.” Sam shrugged.

“Come on then, let’s give you some stress relief.” She winked at him, holding out her hand and he rose to his feet, following her through the back. “Tony, I’ll be in the back room …” she called out to the bartender as she eyed Sam up and down appreciatively “… for at least an hour!”

Once inside the back room that was part office, part store room, she indicated that Sam should sit on the large scruffy couch and sat down on his lap.

“BJ’s $50.00, full ride $100.00. What’s it to be?” she whispered in his ear.

“Everything, I want it all,” Sam growled and lifted her up so she was sitting astride his lap. Her eyes widened as he thrust his hips up so that she could feel how hard he was already.

“Mmm, big boy! I hoped you’d be proportional!” She reached her hand down to stroke his cock through his jeans. “Shall we free the beast?” Sam grunted his assent and she quickly had his jeans and boxers down and his hard cock in her hand. “Jesus! This really is my lucky night!”

“Mine too!” Sam said, although he was already wishing it was Dean’s hands on his cock.

Slipping to her knees, Chrissie used her hands and her very nimble tongue to get him harder still, then took him inside her mouth. Sam knew he was big and he was impressed at how much of him she could take down, only gagging once or twice. She sucked him until he came, gripping her hair with his large hands.

It didn’t take long for her to get him aroused again; this time she climbed over him and rolled a condom onto his hard dick. Then she let him slide into her, screaming as he moved further inside, encouraging him on with cries of ‘yes’ and ‘more’. Bracing his head against the sofa, Sam held Chrissie close while he came again; back arching as his orgasm faded.

Sam was feeling much more relaxed when his phone began to vibrate. He grabbed it with a curse and sighed when he saw Bobby’s name flashing.

“Bobby?” Sam asked as Chrissie shifted to let him answer more easily.

“If you’ve finished having your tantrum, princess, your brother needs you,” Bobby said curtly.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, pushing Chrissie off with one hand so he could stand up.

“He’s asking for ya.” Bobby sounded weary; “he’s still delirious, says your dad will be real mad if you don’t come home.”

“Crap. I’m about half hour away,” Sam replied; “sorry Bobby, I needed…”

“Just get your friggin’ ass back here.” Bobby said, then hung up.

“Chrissie, I gotta go; my brother…” Sam explained as he dressed quickly.

“It’s alright darling, you know where I’ll be if you need some more stress relief!” Chrissie grinned, then stood up and stroked his arm, looking more serious; “I hope he’s okay.”

“Thanks,” Sam nodded and smiled sadly, peeling out the $100.00 from his wallet to hand to her before he left.

 

Dean was sitting up in bed looking distraught when Sam entered the motel room. “Sammy! Thank God, I was so worried, Dad’s so mad. You promised you’d stay with me; you promised, Sammy!”

“I’m here now Dean, you just relax now.” Sitting on the bed, Sam stroked Dean’s hair, watching fondly as Dean sighed drowsily.

“Sammy?” Dean suddenly peered at him in confusion; “Sam?” He sat up, looking scared; “Where the fuck am I? What’s…where…?”

“Dean, you’re safe, don’t worry about anything,” Sam replied as calmly as he could.

“No, no! I didn’t agree to this, you bastards!” Dean started to pull at his IV with a surprising amount of strength for someone who was so ill; Bobby had to help Sam restrain him.

Bobby reached for his duffel and produced a syringe. “It’s a sedative; thought we might need it.”

“No, no, get off me, don’t; don’t do this!” Dean screamed as Sam held him down while Bobby tried to inject him. With Dean’s thrashing, it was hard for Bobby to get a good grip.

“William, stop!” Sam yelled and Dean immediately stopped struggling, seemingly shrinking back onto the bed, as he looked up at Sam in terror and resignation. It gave Bobby the chance to administer the sedative.

“Thank fuck for that!” Bobby muttered and sat down heavily on the chair by the bed. “We might have to put him in restraints; hate to do it, but…” Bobby looked exhausted.

“Yeah, I know, it’s for his own safety. Thanks Bobby, for being here; for helping.”

“Sammy? Why’re you here?” Dean slurred, looking worried; “They..they getcha too?”

“Don’t worry about me, Dean. You’re safe, we got you out,” Sam reassured as he stroked Dean’s soft hair again.

“Out?” Dean looked confused. “Sammy?”

“Yeah?” Sam answered, hoping he could help Dean somehow.

“M’sorry, I-I fucked up, real bad,” Dean was crying now, tears running down his face.

“You just rest now, I’ll stay right here. It’s all over, Dean, you’re safe,” Sam murmured, watching as Dean’s eyelids began to droop. He wasn’t sure how lucid Dean was, whether he was referring to ending up in The Brothel or some other incident. He wiped Dean’s wet cheeks with the edge of the sheet and was about to plant a kiss on his forehead when he remembered Bobby was in the room.

“Holy crap, boy, what in hell did they do to him?” Bobby rubbed his eyes, looking back over at Dean.

“You don’t wanna know.” Sam said sadly; “but he was there for three fucking years, Bobby! We should’ve got him out. I should’ve dropped everything until I found him, dad too. We let him down. Now, now he’s…this!” Sam gestured at the man on the bed, the man that used to be his big brother and was now a broken sex toy.

“He’s tough, Sam, he’ll pull through, he’ll get over…” Bobby said gruffly.

“You have no idea what they did to him, Bobby!” Sam interrupted angrily. “Most Brothel Boys end up as addicts or suicides when they’re released; they can’t cope with life after being there. And it’s so much worse for Dean; they tortured him for weeks, then they put him on the highest possible dosage of drugs to keep him compliant.”

“You’re right, I don’t know what he went through, I don’t think I want to know it all either. But we gotta believe he can get his life back, an’ we gotta be there for him,” Bobby growled, keeping his voice low; “there ain’t no way he’s gonna be another fucking suicide case or drug addict!”

Sam sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “It’s going to be a hard road.”

“Damn straight.” Bobby stood up, stifling a yawn as he stretched his arms and back.

“You should get some sleep, Bobby; I’ll watch over him,” Sam said and the older man nodded.

“You yell if he gets worse, or you need anything, right?” Bobby said as he walked to the door.

“Sure,” Sam replied, as Bobby left the room. He heard Bobby walk along to the next room and open the door. Taking Dean’s hand in his, he watched his brother’s beautiful face as he slept; “just us now, baby. Damn I wish you weren’t sick! I need you, need to be with you.” He leaned over to kiss Dean’s stubbly cheek, moving down to his jaw, then across his lips. It was only brief and Sam wanted more.

Take him, take what you need. He’s sedated, he’s not gonna wake up, he’ll never know. “No!” Sam hissed, angry and ashamed. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t violate his brother; he was ill, and he was vulnerable.

He’s been ill and vulnerable since you found him; it hasn’t stopped you before.

Sam got up and paced the floor, trying to stop the awful thoughts in his head. He grabbed a beer and sank it down while he stood gazing down at Dean.

“Incest, rape, somnophilia. The list grows!” a familiar voice spoke from behind him.

Sam span around to see the yellow-eyed demon smirking at him. “Get the fuck out of here!” he snarled, but the demon just chuckled.

“But I only just arrived!” The demon sneered in a mock-hurt tone.

“What the hell do you want?” Sam demanded, trying to keep his voice steady despite his rage and fear.

“Just want a chat, but I gotta say I’m impressed by your depravity, Sammy, very impressed!” The demon winked at him.

“I love Dean; I’ve never hurt him or taken advantage of him!” Sam said but the words sounded hollow and false even to him.

The demon laughed again, “Oh Sammy, you’re priceless! You really think what you’ve been doing is because you love your brother?” He wiped his eyes, still chuckling; “It’s about lust, desire, power, control and want. Can’t say I blame you, he’s very pretty.”

Sam landed a hard punch on the demon’s chin that snapped his head back. His eyes flashed and he looked pissed off, but he still grinned at Sam.

“Now, that wasn’t very nice,” he said calmly, then slammed his right fist into Sam’s stomach, following it with a left hook to his jaw that sent Sam sprawling onto the floor; “but you’ll never get the better of me, Sammy, and the sooner you realize that the better.”

“You fucking bastard!” Sam scrambled back to his feet, holding his aching stomach and hoping no ribs had been broken.

“So, now that’s out of the way, on to business,” He walked over and looked down at Dean; “you haven’t avenged dear, sweet Dean recently, which is a real shame, as I need you out there, killing, torturing and embracing your true nature.”

“Fuck you. I’m not doing that anymore,” Sam said, rubbing his aching jaw.

“You will,” the demon replied smugly; “look in the files, a hunter found Dean, knew who he was and didn’t tell anyone except his maniac partner.” He smirked; knowing that this would make Sam act. “They abused Dean, Sammy, they need to die.”

“Hunters? Hunters abused Dean?” Sam’s head reeled from the information as well as the punch.

“Gordon Walker and his sidekick Kubrick. Seek ‘em out, Sammy!” The demon flashed another smile, and then clicked his fingers; Sam’s stomach and jaw stopped aching and he stood up straighter, frowning in confusion. “You’ll need to be in tip-top condition to tackle these two, Sammy-boy,” the demon added, and then disappeared.

“Fuck!” Sam grabbed the Judge’s laptop and sat back down beside Dean, opening it up to scroll through the files. Of course the names yielded no results; these hunters would no doubt use aliases. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Eventually, he spotted a file labeled “William – doubles.” He shuddered at the implication and started to look at images of his brother being fucked by two men; sometimes one at each end, sometimes one after the other, sometimes two at once. Dean’s moans of pain when that happened would haunt him forever.

Then he saw a middle-aged white guy enter Dean’s room and look at him in shocked surprise. He scurried out of the room, and returned with a tough-looking black guy. Sam had never met Walker but now remembered hearing his dad talk about him as Gordon Walker, a legend among hunters - the best vampire killer around.

“Look, it’s him,” the other guy, Kubrick, said; “Winchester’s eldest boy. He’s been missing a couple of years!”

“Holy fuck, yeah!” Walker smiled evilly; “he was always such an arrogant little punk; look how the mighty have fallen.” He walked over to Dean, who was kneeling, gazing at nothing and oblivious to their conversation, and grabbed his chin; forcing Dean to look up at him.

“What are we gonna do? Winchester’s been looking for him…” Kubrick started to say.

“What are we gonna do?” Walker sneered at him; “We’re gonna fuck that sweet mouth and I bet his ass is just as sweet.”

“But he’s a hunter…” Kubrick protested.

“Not anymore,” Walker sneered; “he’s a drugged up whore. Look at him. He doesn't even know who he is.” Tightening his grip on Dean’s chin, Walker shook his head slightly as he addressed Dean directly. “Hey, Dean?” he asked; “Your daddy’s looking for you. Tell us you want to leave here and we’ll get you out. Do you want to leave, Dean?”

Dean blinked vacantly and stared at Walker in confusion.

“Poor kid,” Kubrick said, “he’s in a bad way.”

“He’s okay, aren't you, boy?” Walker patted Dean’s head almost affectionately; “what were the instructions?”

“Give him clear simple orders, like ‘lick your lips’, and add his name – William he goes by here,” Kubrick recited the things he had been told; “Oh, and he can only say ‘please’ and ‘sir’.”

“Excellent,” Walker grinned; “William, lick your lips.” Dean licked his lips, slowly, teasingly and Walker moaned. “Holy fuck! Want me to fuck your face, William?” he asked. Dean bit his bottom lip, waiting for further orders. “Speak, William!”

“Please!” Dean begged, green eyes locked on Walker.

“Again! Speak William!” Walker demanded.

“Please…please…sir!” Dean pleaded.

“Oh Jesus” Kubrick muttered, rubbing his crotch.

“Good boy, William,” Walker pulled out his huge, hard cock and ran it over Dean’s face; “suck it, William,” he coaxed. Dean started to lick and suck the man’s cock and Sam fast-forwarded the recording, not needing to see his brother giving head to a fucking hunter; someone who should have helped him. Sam started to watch again when Walker moved away from Dean and was talking to Kubrick.

“You gotta try that sweet mouth,” Walker was saying; “the boy has some skills; he’s obviously had a lot of practice!”

A tinny voice came over the radio “If more than one of you is using The Boy it will cost double.”

“Okay, he’s fucking worth every penny!” Walker said, grinning up at the camera.

Sam was going to enjoy making this fucker suffer.

Kubrick still looked uncertain; he swallowed and fidgeted, regarding Dean with a frown. “Oh God, it’s wrong, but he’s just too fucking pretty! You sure he don’t know who he is?” He looked at Walker, who nodded. “What if Winchester finds out, he’ll fucking kill us!”

“How will he ever find out?” Walker shrugged; “Dean, William, whatever the fuck his name is, won’t remember!”

“Holy fuck those lips…” Kubrick moved towards Dean and Sam knew the man was lost to his desires; he recognized the look on his face. Sam had felt the same when he saw Dean on his knees, licking his lips, so ready, so willing…

Dean whimpered in his sleep and Sam forced his eyes away from the screen to comfort his brother. “It’s okay Dean, sleep, baby, I’m here.” He murmured, stroking Dean’s hair until he relaxed into a deeper sleep.

Sam turned his attention back to the screen and saw Dean kneeling before Kubrick; the hunter was thrusting his dick into Dean’s mouth, holding his head firmly by the hair, making Dean choke and sob. But what made Sam’s blood boil was seeing Walker watching avidly, his cock still hanging free from his jeans and getting hard again.

“Wait up!” Walker said and Kubrick looked at him in amazement.

“Wait? You fucking kidding me?” Kubrick muttered.

Walker was already on the move, hauling Dean off of Kubrick and pushing him face down onto the bed.

“You can carry on, but I gotta fuck that ass right now,” Walker chuckled. “You like being spit-roasted, Dean? Speak, William!”

“Please! Please!” Dean was on his hands and knees on the bed as Walker had positioned him. Kubrick resumed fucking his mouth while Walker rolled on a condom and lubed his dick, before thrusting into Dean without any other prep. Dean’s muffled cries could be heard as he was fucked from both ends, rocked between the two men. The two hunters.

Sam felt sick; this was the worst, the very worst. These men knew Dean, knew who he was, knew that John Winchester was looking for him and they did nothing to help him. They took pleasure in abusing Dean, especially that fucker Walker, who was holding Dean’s hips so tightly as he pummeled into him that he was sure to leave bruises.

Closing the laptop, Sam wiped away angry tears. He wanted to go out and find those bastards right now but he was exhausted and he had promised to stay with Dean. Also, Walker was a clever bastard and a ruthless killer. Sam would need a good plan to trap him.

Sam got into the bed, gently gathering Dean into his arms. Before he fell asleep, Sam vowed that Walker and Kubrick would soon be dead – but only after they had suffered for what they had done.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam tracks down an unsuspecting Kubrick and arranges a face-off with Walker. Sam also has another visit from the yellow-eyed demon, and a disturbing nightmare about Dean

“Bobby, what do you know about Gordon Walker?” Sam asked Bobby the next morning.

Dean had woken earlier, confused and disorientated, but he was sleeping again now. Sam was scrolling through his e-mails and Bobby was reading a local newspaper.

“Walker? The vampire hunter?” Bobby asked, looking up and eyeing him suspiciously.

“Yep,” Sam said, trying to sound casual.

“Good hunter; he’s strong and ruthless,” Bobby said and then asked, “Why d’you wanna know?”

“Just heard his name…” Sam shrugged.

“Don’t try kidding a kidder, boy!” Bobby growled, “Why’re you interested in Walker?”

Sam wanted to tell Bobby everything, wanted to share the rage and indignation he felt, but he knew Bobby would try to stop him. He hesitated too long in answering and Bobby guessed. The older man’s face went ashen and he had to sit down.

“No! He wouldn’t…he didn’t…” Bobby groaned.

“I’m sorry Bobby, but he did,” Sam replied, “he and his sidekick recognized Dean and did nothing to help him. They fucked him,” Sam saw Bobby flinch at the word, but there was no sugar-coating this, “and used him repeatedly. They’re both gonna die, Bobby. They have to.”

“Walker was always fucking insane, but I can’t believe he’d do…this!” Bobby looked devastated. “And to a fellow hunter! Kubrick, well, he seemed a decent guy, a little touched in the head but…”

“Do you want to see what they did?” Sam asked, knowing the answer.

“Hell, no!” Bobby said vehemently. “I don’t wanna see Dean like that, and he wouldn’t want anyone to see him like that. It’s bad enough you’ve seen it all…”

“I’ve only seen a fraction of the recordings, Bobby; don’t forget he was in there for three fucking years!” Sam said angrily.

“As if I can ever forget that! Oh shit!” Bobby stood up and staggered towards the toilet. Sam heard him throwing up and stared over at Dean, who was sleeping peacefully. He hoped Dean would never know what had happened to him and that Dean wouldn’t remember any of it. Mostly he hoped Dean would never, ever know that Sam had watched him being violated and degraded.

Bobby came back into the room looking haggard. “You can’t go after Walker, Sam. The guy’s dangerous and fucking unhinged.”

“So am I,” Sam said and saw shock in Bobby’s eyes at his icy tone. “I have to do this, they’ll be the last ones, I promise. Once they’re dealt with I’ll concentrate on getting Dean better.”

“Sam, you can’t keep on going around killing folk and expect to get away with it!” Bobby implored. “What if you die, or get caught and imprisoned? Dean needs you…”

“I’ll be here for Dean when I’m done,” Sam snapped, sighing as he ran his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry, Bobby, but they knew who he was, they knew Dad was looking for him, and they kept him there so they could visit him and fuck him whenever they wanted to! They deserve what’s coming.”

“They’re hunters, Sam, you take them out and other hunters will come after you,” Bobby said wearily, “and they won’t be as easy to take out as your other victims.”

“I’ll be careful, Bobby. I’m going after Kubrick first, then Walker. I won’t leave a trail or any clues,” Sam explained, “but I need your help to know how to reel Walker in. Will you help me, Bobby?”

As if on cue, Dean started to cry out in his sleep, whimpering in terror and thrashing around in pain.

“Holy crap,” Bobby sighed sadly, as Sam walked over to comfort Dean. Sam knew then that Bobby would help him.

 

“Sam? Sam Winchester?” Kubrick held out his hand. Sam had recognized him from the video of course, and tried to look casual.

“Yep, you must be Mr Kubrick?”

“Just Kubrick, son. You sure look a lot like your daddy!” Kubrick grinned.

“Can we talk?” Sam asked and they headed into the bar, finding a quiet booth.

“How can I help you, Sam?” Kubrick inquired.

“I need help with a vamp nest out in Montana,” Sam answered. “Bobby Singer told me your buddy Walker is the one to talk to but I can’t get hold of him.”

“Walker’s his own man, he don’t help other hunters,” Kubrick hesitated for a moment, sipping his beer, then added, “but if it’s a vamp nest he might want in.”

“I have some information back at my motel room, maps and names,” Sam lied easily, “I didn’t want to bring it out in public.”

“Very wise; I could come and look over it, see if it’s what Walker would be interested in?” Kubrick suggested, playing right into Sam’s hands.

“That would be great!” Sam replied with a grin.

 

Once they had finished their drinks, Kubrick followed Sam out of town in his truck. When Sam flashed his hazard lights and pulled over to the side of the road after a mile or so, he pulled over too. Sam climbed out of his car and kicked the front tyre angrily, pretending it was flat. He walked over to Kubrick’s truck and gave him a rueful grin.

“Damn tyre’s gone flat. Can I ride with you to the motel?” He asked. “I’ll come out and change the tyre in the morning.”

“Sure thing; or I can help you change it now?” Kubrick offered.

“Haven’t got a spare - I forgot to replace it.” Sam explained as he climbed in next to Kubrick. Once in the truck, he pulled out his gun and aimed it at the man, whose easy smile turned into a confused frown.

“What the hell?” Kubrick demanded.

“I need you to drive down the next side road.” Sam said.

“What the hell for?” he asked, looking concerned but not scared, yet.

“Just do it, Kubrick, or I’ll put a bullet through your skull,” Sam warned.

Kubrick glared at Sam, but started up the truck, taking the next side road as instructed.

“Okay, stop here,” Sam commanded. As soon as Kubrick had parked up, Sam grabbed the back of his head and slammed his forehead into the steering wheel, stunning him. Grabbing the cuffs he had stashed away in his jacket pocket, Sam quickly put them on Kubrick’s hands, threading the link through the steering wheel, and trapping Kubrick, who was muttering and struggling now.

“What do you want?” he asked Sam.

“Revenge, justice, vengeance,” Sam said, pleased to see a look of fear cross Kubrick’s face. “Did you really think you could fuck my brother, leave him to rot in that shit hole and get away with it?” Sam yelled angrily.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Kubrick tried to bluff his way out.

“You’re going to die tonight, you sick bastard, so there’s really no point in lying,” Sam growled.

“No, you don’t have to do this!” Kubrick tried another tactic, “I have money, you can have it all.”

“You really think money will help Dean?” Sam roared, “He’s been in that place three fucking years, drugged up so high he didn’t know who he was! Raped, tortured, abused every fucking day! And you…you and Walker…you knew, you knew who he was and you…” Sam felt sick at the thought.

“I’m sorry!” Kubrick whined, “but as you said, he wasn’t himself, he didn’t know who he was…”

Sam smashed his fist into Kubrick’s face and heard the familiar crunch of breaking bone as Kubrick yelped in pain and his broken nose started to bleed heavily.

“You disgust me.” Sam sneered at the man. “You were worse than any of the other sick freaks that used Dean because you’re a fucking hunter and you should have fucking helped him!” Sam punched him again, this time in the stomach.

“I wanted to, I did, and I wanted to tell your dad, but Walker…” Kubrick sobbed.

“So you’re a rapist and a fucking coward?” Sam said, sneering at the sniveling wretch the man now was. “Don’t blame it all on Walker.”  
Sam reached over and Kubrick flinched, expecting another punch, but instead Sam rummaged through the man’s jacket pockets to get his cell phone and wallet.

“I’m sorry, Sam, I really am. God forgive me, I got carried away; but he’s so beautiful…” Kubrick was pleading now and Sam punched him hard again on the jaw this time. He knew at that moment it wasn’t revenge, justice or vengeance that was fueling his rage, it was jealousy; this man had dared to touch Dean, to take what belonged to Sam.

“Where’s your money?” Sam asked. Kubrick looked dazed now, his face covered in blood.

“In the…the glove box..in the..the cigarette packet…” Kubrick muttered. “Take it for…for him…”

Sam opened the glove box and pulled out the cigarette packet. It was jammed full of notes; there were easily hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars in it.

“Thank you,” Sam said politely, “now I’m going to set fire to this truck and watch you burn; it will be a prelude to what’s going to happen to you in hell, you piece of shit!”

“No...no…please Sam don’t do this,” Kubrick begged, “you’re a good kid, you’re not a murderer!”

“You have no idea who I am or what I’m capable of,” Sam hissed at him. Climbing out of the truck, he was pleased to find a can of gasoline in the trunk. He could have siphoned off some from the tank but this was so much easier. He opened the door and sprinkled the gas over the seat and over Kubrick, chuckling as it reminded him of priests sprinkling holy water.

“Sam, please, please don’t do this!” Kubrick was sobbing now, his eyes wild with terror. “Gordon will know you did this, he’ll kill you!”

“Goodbye, Mr Kubrick. Enjoy hell,” Sam said as he struck a match and let it fall onto the seat. He stepped back to watch as flames sprung up and spread toward the screaming man. Kubrick was trying to get his wrists out of the cuffs, making them bleed. Watching impassively, Sam felt no compassion for the terrified man. When the flames crept over Kubrick’s legs and burnt through the denim his screams intensified.

Sam walked away and turned back to watch as Kubrick’s body was engulfed in flames. He was howling now, an inhuman sound, the cry of a damned soul, as his body thrashed and jerked in agony.

Sam walked away, the sound of Kubrick’s screams following him. He heard an explosion and turned again to see the fireball that used to be Kubrick’s truck light up the night sky. He grinned to himself as he started to jog back to his car, knowing that the explosion might attract some attention. However, when he reached his car there were no signs of flashing lights or sirens, and he allowed himself another grin. It had gone better than he expected and the longer the fire raged the less of Kubrick there would be left to identify.

“Well done, Sammy!” A familiar voice startled him as he opened his car door.

“Are you stalking me now?” Sam snarled, turning around to face the demon, who was standing a few feet away from the car.

“When I get a chance!” the yellow-eyed demon smirked, “Jeez, that was cold, Sammy-boy, real cold. The way you just watched him burning up, screaming like a banshee, well, what can I tell you? It sent shivers up my spine!”

“You’re fucking sick, if that’s how you get your kicks.” Sam glared at him. “And I didn’t do it for fun; I did it because I had to.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” the demon winked at Sam, “but you can’t deny that every kill is getting easier. Soon you’ll love to kill almost as much as you love to fuck your brother!”

Sam swung a punch at the demon’s smug face but he just stepped sideways with a chuckle and uttered a brief spell, rendering Sam immobile.

“You bastard!” Sam yelled in frustration, needing so badly to punch him.

“A word to the wise, Sammy-boy.” The demon said, ignoring Sam’s anger. “Walker is a psycho, he’s evil. Can’t wait to get him downstairs…but I’m digressing. You’ll need to be on your guard with him. He knows you’re coming.”

“How does he know? Did you tell him?” Sam demanded.

“Why would I?” the demon shrugged, “he’s smart, Sammy; he’s kept track of the deaths linked to The Brothel since Dean miraculously escaped. He’s put two and two together and he ain’t made it five.”

“Why are you telling me?” Sam asked.

“Because I like you; you’re my favorite and I want you around a while longer,” the demon replied with a smirk.

“That’s disturbing,” Sam shuddered and the demon laughed. “If you like me so much, then help me!” he added.

“You don’t need my help,” the demon shrugged; “you just need to be prepared to kill him by any means necessary.”

With that final, not very helpful advice, the demon departed, clicking his fingers to release Sam from his spell. Relieved to be free, Sam climbed into the car, happy to rest his shaking legs. He drove as far away as he could before his adrenaline was replaced by exhaustion. Before long, he found another quiet side road and stopped to take a break. Crossing his arms over the steering wheel, he rested his head on them, and suddenly saw Kubrick cuffed to the steering wheel of the truck, desperately trying to get away from the fire. He expected to feel sick, but he felt jubilant instead. Then he realized he was laughing at a man being burned alive and nausea hit him. He threw himself out of the car and onto the hard ground just in time.

He lay on the ground for a long time afterward, rolling away from his own vomit and curling himself into a ball. He was evil, fucking evil, and he couldn’t stop what was happening to him. He wished he could talk to Dean about this; Dean would understand and he would know what to do. He had always been there for Sam. He couldn’t talk to Bobby, he would think, rightly so, that Sam was a freak, a monster. He couldn’t speak to his dad; he could just picture the conversation – “Hi Dad, I know we haven’t spoken in three years but I need your help, as I think I’m evil” - that wasn’t ever going to happen. Hey, you could tell him how you’ve been fucking Dean too!

Sam cried himself to sleep and woke up cold, aching and miserable at daybreak. He forced himself upright and stretched his sore limbs. “You pathetic sack of shit!” he muttered. Driving on to the next town, in need of a shower and some food, he found a motel. He also had to phone Bobby and check on Dean. He suppressed his underlying need that seemed to be a constant now; the need to fuck, to hurt or to kill.  
Sam showered and put on clean clothes, which made him feel slightly better. He made his way to the diner next to the motel and phoned Bobby while waiting for his order to arrive. Bobby informed him that Dean was doing okay, still having nightmares, panic attacks and hallucinations, but in between times he was almost lucid and Bobby had managed to get him to eat, which was progress.

 

Back in his room, Sam opened up the Judge’s laptop and watched Walker fucking Dean, over and over. It fuelled his rage and reinforced his belief that Walker was a monster to be put down, not a man. He picked up Kubrick’s cell phone and found a number listed as GW. He rang from his own phone, not wanting Walker to know Kubrick was dead.

“Who the fuck is this?” Walker hissed down the phone, “how’d you get this number?”

“I’m the person who’s going to kill you,” Sam said as calmly as he could.

Walker laughed. “Let me guess, little Sammy Winchester! Out for revenge for poor broken Dean! Or is he still answering to William?”

“You have two choices,” Sam said, ignoring the jibes, “one is to meet me and face me. The other is to live looking over your shoulder waiting for me to find you. What’s it to be?”

“Oh, I’m so scared!” Walker sneered. “Tell me when and where and I’ll be there, tough guy.”

Sam had found an abandoned workshop on the edge of town and told Walker to contact him when he arrived in town and he would tell him the address. Walker replied that he was about two days drive away and would see Sam real soon.

Sam lay on the bed staring at the ceiling and going over his plan to end Walker, as painfully as possible. He drifted off to sleep and dreamed of Dean. They were making love, Sam was kissing and nibbling his way down Dean’s body and Dean – the real Dean, not the drugged shell – was responding, crying out his name and demanding more. Sam was almost crying in happiness; Dean was back, was Dean again, and yet was still Sam’s.

Pushing Dean’s legs back towards his chest, Sam started to lick his hole, then dipped his tongue in, teasing Dean and making him writhe and curse. Soon Sam was inside his brother, thrusting hard, loving the noises Dean was making, loving the way Dean’s dick was dripping pre-come over his flat stomach. Sam was so close to coming, but he wanted Dean to come first so he gripped Dean’s dick and it only took a few strokes before Dean’s body went taut and he came. Sam followed soon after and just before he was about to pull out, he gazed down at Dean.

“I love you so much, Dean,” he whispered, expecting Dean to smile lazily back at him.

Instead Dean sat up and shoved Sam off. His beautiful face twisted into a snarl of hatred as he hissed at Sam, “get the hell off of me you sick freak! You’re no better than Walker or any of the other sick bastards who fucked me!” Dean pulled out the knife he always kept under his pillow and Sam’s heart hammered in his chest. He knew he deserved to die but he didn’t want to leave Dean.

“Dean, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Sam wept; “I-I love you, I thought you loved me and we-we could be together…”

“I’d rather die than let you or any other sick freak ever touch me again!” Dean turned the knife inwards and before Sam could stop him, he plunged the knife into his stomach. Sam caught him before he fell onto the bed, holding Dean by the shoulders and watching the blood seep out of the wound, staining Dean’s pale skin and the white sheets red.

Sam woke up in a cold sweat, his eyes sore from crying. He knew that’s just how Dean, the real Dean, would react. He wanted his brother back, but he knew he wanted his brother more. And the demon’s spell had given him the perfect solution. He would use it once he had finished with Walker.

“You’re no better than Walker or any of the other sick bastards who fucked me!” Dean’s accusing voice was still in his head.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam said aloud as he wiped his face with his hands, “I’m going to love you and you’re going to let me. I’m different to the others because I’m yours, you’re mine and we’re meant to be together. I love you and I’m going to prove it.”

 

Sam was ready, as ready as he could be. He had arrived at the warehouse hours before the agreed time and set a trap for Walker. He had found a hatch just by the entrance that led down to the basement, and he adjusted it so that it would collapse if anyone stood on it. The fall was about 10 feet, not enough to badly injure Walker, so Sam placed a pile of broken bricks, pieces of twisted metal and smashed bottles that were littered around the basement underneath the hatch. That was bound to cause Walker some damage. There was an alternate route into the basement that Sam would take once Walker was trapped, perhaps then he would shoot him in the arm to disable him before making him suffer.

Sam heard the rumble of a car engine and his body tensed in anticipation. Walker took his time entering the building, no doubt scoping the place before entering. It was dark inside the building and Sam had covered the hatch with the same dirt and debris that littered the floor, so he was confident Walker wouldn’t notice it.

“Hey there, Sam!” Walker called out, casually, like he was greeting an old friend, “I’m here, time to show me what ya got!”

Sam was concealed in a side office and stepped out, gun in hand. “Walker.”

Walker grinned at him and raised his hands, showing that he was unarmed. “Looks like you ate all your porridge as a boy, Sammy; you’re much bigger than your brother,” he grinned again, “although it was hard to tell how tall Dean was, as he was always on his knees or his back for me.”

Sam knew the man was goading him, trying to make him react impulsively, and was ready for his insults and insinuations.

“You don’t seem to be taking this seriously, you piece of shit,” Sam replied as calmly as he could.

“Oh, I’m serious, but I’m in a dilemma,” Walker sighed, “I was going to kill you then find Dean and keep him for fun, but seeing you, Sammy, I’d like to keep the pair of you.”

“That’s never going to happen,” Sam said, fighting back the urge to blast a hole through Walker’s smug face.

“Then you better shoot me right now, ‘cause I ain’t gonna step onto your little booby-trap,” Walker snarled and Sam knew now, as the demon had warned him, that this kill wasn’t going to be easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the characters of Sam and Dean or any others mentioned. I will not make any profit from this story.
> 
> I cannot thank my wonderful betas dizzojay and somersault_j enough for their support and for spotting my errors and for making this story so much better


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has a hard fight on his hands against Gordon Walker. An unexpected visitor turns up and helps Sam in the aftermath of the fight.

Sam made a split-second decision to shoot Walker in the shoulder, knowing that weakening the man would be his only chance to overpower him, but as he pulled the trigger, Walker dived and pulled out his own gun. Sam’s shot grazed the top of Walker’s right arm, enough to sting but not enough to do much damage. Cursing, Sam ducked back into the doorway of the office, but Walker’s shot hit home, catching Sam in his left shoulder. He half-fell and half-threw himself onto the floor of the office, the pain in his shoulder only slightly less than the pain to his pride. He’d thought he had this planned and that he would be in control, but now Walker had the upper hand.

“Come on, Sammy, you know you can’t beat me,” Walker called out, “I’m older than you, more experienced. I’m a trained killer, Sammy; you’re just a kid. Some folks say I’m a psychopath because I enjoy killing the creatures I hunt, but I just call it job satisfaction.”

“Stop calling me Sammy, you sick freak!” Sam yelled back; “I’m not a fucking kid!”

“Just come on out, hands in the air, and we’ll discuss our future together.” Walker’s voice sounded closer and Sam managed to move onto his knees and peer through the office window. Walker was edging around the hatch and would soon be too close for comfort. “We could make a good team, Sammy. You could be my researcher and sweet-talk witnesses and officials. I bet you’re real good at that. Then we could cozy up at night with your brother…”

“You don’t have a future, and you’re never touching my brother again!” Sam growled, lying down on the floor and gritting his teeth as his injured shoulder throbbed in agony. He waited until he could see Walker’s feet and fired his gun. Walker dodged the shot, but stumbled backwards; Sam heard a crash and a muffled cry of shock. He stood on shaky legs and ventured out of the office, grinning when he saw that Walker had fallen through the hatch.

“You fucking bastard! I’m gonna kill you! I’m gonna carve your heart out of your fucking chest,” Walker screamed. His voice was ragged and Sam knew he was in a lot of pain.

“Just wait right there, Gordy,” Sam taunted, “I’ll be down in a few.”

Sam knew Walker was still dangerous, especially if he had managed to keep hold of his gun. He also knew he had to stop his shoulder bleeding. He looked around the office for anything resembling a first aid kit but there was nothing; the building had been empty too long. Eventually, he tore the bottom of his shirt off and stuffed it between the wound and his t-shirt, trying not to cry out at the pain.

Once he was done, Sam made his way carefully down the stairs. Walker had crawled away from the debris Sam had left under the hatch, leaving a trail of blood. Gun in hand, he was propped up against the wall, bleeding from his leg, his stomach and from a big gash above his right eye. To Sam’s surprise Walker didn't shoot at him, but he still had the gun trained on him.

“I could kill you right now, or we could see who’s the quicker draw and you might kill me. But that’s not what you want is it, boy?” Walker’s breathing was labored and Sam guessed he had damaged his ribs as he fell. “You want to make me suffer, make me pay for using that pathetic whore that used to be your brother.”

“Don’t speak about him like that!” Sam growled, advancing on Walker.

“You got one chance, Sammy. You can shoot me right the fuck now and end it, if I don’t shoot you first. Or we can put our guns away and fight hand to hand,” Walker shrugged; “your choice.”

“You gotta be kidding; you’re busted up,” Sam protested.

“And you’re bleeding heavily from your shoulder,” Walker retorted.

“Okay…but you put your gun down first,” Sam agreed, trying to assess how injured Walker had been from the fall.

“Aw Sammy, don’t you trust me?” Walker grinned.

“No fucking way. You wanna play? You put your gun down first,” Sam growled, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

Walker shrugged and placed his gun down, sliding it across the floor and out of his reach. Sam, in turn, put his gun on an old workbench and faced Walker. Somehow, despite several obvious injuries, Walker had hauled himself onto his knees and was now slowly standing. Sam hid a grin; Walker was in a bad way and this was going to be easy now.

“You should’ve killed me when you had the chance,” Walker taunted, “but I’m glad you didn’t. This is gonna be so much fun!”

Moving forward slightly, Sam watched every move Walker made. Thanks to his upbringing, Sam was well trained at hand-to-hand combat, but he knew Walker would fight dirty.

“C’mon then, Sammy, you said yourself I’m busted up; what you waiting for?” Walker sneered. Unable to hold back any longer, Sam propelled himself forward, swinging a punch at Walker’s face. Side-stepping the punch, Walker lurched towards Sam and it wasn’t until he felt the sting of the blade slicing his side that Sam realized Walker had pulled out a knife.

“You fucker!” Sam yelled, his rage dulling the pain for the moment. He grabbed Walker’s hand as the injured hunter tried to stab him again and twisted Walker’s wrist as hard as he could until he dropped the knife.

“Did you really expect this to be easy?” Walker snarled, bringing his free hand around to punch Sam hard in the stomach. Sam doubled over, winded, but still found the strength to push Walker backwards, and as he stumbled, Sam grasped the initiative, lunging forward and knocking them both to the ground. Trapped under Sam’s weight, Walker managed to grab the younger hunter’s injured shoulder and squeeze it hard, loosening Sam’s iron grip. In that moment, Walker used his advantage to push Sam off of him and grab his knife again.

Through a haze of pain, Sam saw the flash of steel and reached out for something, anything he could use as a weapon. His hand felt metal and he thanked whoever was watching over him that he had grabbed a length of steel pipe. It was only a couple of feet long, but it was long enough. Walker grinned at Sam and raised the knife to strike, but Sam was faster, hitting Walker’s wrist with the pipe. Walker cursed as his knife clattered to the floor once more, and Sam lashed out again, striking Walker’s side and knocking him down to the ground.

Sam was about to hit Walker with the pipe again when the older man smashed his fist into Sam’s face, busting his nose. He pulled his arm back to punch Sam again, but this time Sam was ready and brought the pipe down on Walker’s arm.

Walker tried to grab the pipe from Sam, and together they struggled for it, both equally stubborn and determined despite their injuries. Sam thought he had the upper hand as he was standing over Walker, but then Walker punched him in the side aiming for the knife wound. Sam howled in pain and Walker wrested the pipe from his hands, knocking him onto the floor with one blow to the head.

Sam knew this was it; he couldn’t see anything clearly, his head was swimming from the blow and he knew he was close to blacking out. Walker was going to finish him and Dean would be alone. Sam would never see those beautiful green eyes again, never kiss those pretty lips, never lick those tempting freckles, and never fuck that sweet hole…

“S’Sammy, whass it t’be?” Walker slurred, his face looming above Sam, bloodied and sweat-covered.

“Fuck you,” Sam managed to spit out.

“You- you put up a good fight, but I’m better.” Walker threw the pipe down and put his hands around Sam’s neck; “Shall I kill you or keep you as my pet along with Dean?”

Walker’s hands tightened and Sam could barely focus on his words or his smug face.

“No, you’d be too much of a risk,” Walker said, tightening his grip; “I’m gonna get your brother and keep him as my whore; fuck him whenever I like; make him choke on my dick; make him beg to be fucked…”

As Sam’s vision blurred further, his right hand was reaching out to find something, anything, and just as he thought he was beaten, his fingers felt something hard and thin; it was razor wire. He grabbed it and, in a final act of desperation, managed to bring up his left arm, ignoring the pounding agony of the bullet wound, and raise the wire to Walker’s neck.

The man was still talking, still taunting Sam with what he was going to do to Dean, and he looked surprised when the wire cut into his flesh.

Then he laughed.“You ain’t got the juice to finish it off boy,” he sneered. Sam knew rationally that Walker was right, that he was too weak to garrote him, but the thought of this sneering, sadistic, evil bastard touching Dean drove him on. Sam didn’t care anymore if he lived or died; as long as he killed Walker, nothing else mattered.

Walker’s sneer twisted into shock as the wire bit deeper into his throat. His grip on Sam’s neck weakened, and as the wire’s bite strengthened he tried to grab at Sam’s hands. Walker’s eyes grew impossibly large, then dulled as his hands fell limp. Blood was pouring down Walker’s neck, and Sam knew he was dead but he couldn’t stop his hands from tightening the wire. It dug into the flesh of his palms and his fingers but he still couldn’t stop.

A voice was suddenly calling out his name, and he knew he was imagining it, but still he pulled on the wire, putting every remaining trace of strength into the effort. Then suddenly Walker’s head lolled to the side; the wire went slack and Walker’s head fell onto the floor next to Sam.  
“Sam!” the voice yelled, “Oh God, Sammy, what have you done!”

It sounded a bit like Dean, but Sam knew it couldn’t be him and it didn’t sound like Bobby. Sam vaguely wondered who it was as he closed his eyes and waited for death to claim him too; he had lost a lot of blood and no one knew where he was. If only the imaginary voice was real.

Strong arms pulled him off the floor and into a hug. “Sam, it’s okay, I’ve gotcha. Holy fuck, how did you do that? Jesus.” Hands shook his shoulders and he opened his eyes to see a familiar bearded face. Now he knew he was dreaming. “Sam, c’mon, keep your eyes open, stay with me. I gotta get you out of here.”

“Dad?” Sam blinked as his head lolled. He was so tired, he just wanted to sleep.

“Yeah, it’s me,” John grinned at him wryly; “fuck, you’re bleeding out Sammy.” He lowered Sam gently back onto the floor and checked out his injuries. “Shit!” He hissed as looked over Sam’s battered body. “Okay, I can patch you up until we get help; you just stay with me Sammy, okay?”

Sam nodded, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.

“I can’t believe what I just saw, Sammy; you fucking decapitated Gordon Walker!” John gasped and Sam knew he was trying to keep him awake; “how the hell did you manage that?”

“Dean…” Sam muttered; “he was gonna hurt Dean…again…couldn’t let him.”

“He hurt Dean?” John asked, as his strong hands wrapped makeshift bandages torn from his shirt around Sam’s shoulder.

“R-raped him…Brothel…Kubrick too…killed him…” Sam tried to stay focused but it was getting harder.

“He raped Dean?” John’s voice was a ragged whisper. He was so shocked his hands stopped bandaging Sam for a moment.

“I did it, I got ‘em, dad, I had to…” Sam said as the darkness began to overtake him.

“You did good, Sam,” his dad reassured, and Sam smiled as he slipped into oblivion.

 

“I really don’t know how he survived, John,” Sam heard a woman’s voice saying as he regained consciousness.

“He’s a tough kid,” John answered proudly.

“He must be. Or he’s got himself a very dedicated guardian angel,” she replied as Sam felt a gentle hand on his wrist, measuring his pulse.  
He opened his eyes slowly, squinting as the light hit them.

“Sammy?” His dad’s voice sounded hopeful.

“Dad,” Sam peered at John’s tired face, “where...”

“It’s okay, Sam, you’re safe. We’re at a friend’s place; she’s been looking after you.” John smiled at Sam and took his hand; “you were in pretty bad shape.”

“Walker…?” Sam wanted to ask so much more but his mouth refused to co-operate with his brain.

“He’s gone, Sam. I took care of it,” John replied, gripping Sam’s hand; “don’t worry about anything except getting better.” He looked at the woman and Sam followed his gaze. She was around John’s age, with short, dark hair, and a pretty face. Sam wondered how much of a friend she was to his dad.

“I’m Kate Davis, Sam; I’m pleased to finally meet you.” She smiled at Sam.

“How long…?”Sam asked.

“Three days; you had a nasty concussion and you’d lost a lot of blood,” Kate informed him. “John, let’s sit him up a bit so he can have a drink.”

Between them they lifted Sam and sat him up a little. His bandaged hand shook as Kate handed him a glass of water, but he managed to drink it slowly. Just the effort of sitting up and drinking exhausted him and he leant back again the pillows wearily.

“Just rest up now, Sam; you’re doing great.” John reassured and Sam tried to respond but he was too tired.

 

The next time he woke up the room was quiet and dark, with just the light of a bedside lamp. Looking around, he saw his dad sleeping on a mattress on the floor, and confusion overwhelmed him. His dad hated him, didn’t he? He had disowned Sam because he had dared to go off to college, yet here he was watching over him just like a regular dad.

Sam realized this wasn’t a hospital, although he was hooked up to what he presumed was an IV; there was wallpaper on the wall and pictures that Sam couldn’t see clearly in the partial darkness. There was a book shelf too, crammed with books. He sat up a little and groaned as the movement made his side and shoulder ache.

“Sam? You okay?” John’s sleepy voice asked as he rolled over to sit up.

“M’fine, just a bit sore.” Sam was pleased to find that he could almost form a sentence now.

“Can I get you anything?” John asked, standing and stretching his arms above his head.

“Just water thanks.” Sam replied; “Dad, is Dean okay?” He added.

“I haven’t seen him, but Bobby tells me he’s doing okay,” John replied as he handed Sam a glass of water. “He’s worrying about you, wants to see you.”

“I couldn’t let Walker hurt him again, I had to do it.” Sam bit back a moan as his wounds protested at being stretched.

“Here, let me get you straight,” John supported Sam and rearranged the pillows to enable him to sit up without too much discomfort. “Sam, I understand why you did it,” he replied; “but it was a damned reckless move; you could have died. You almost fucking did.”

“I know, I guess I underestimated Walker. He warned me…” Sam hesitated, unsure of how his dad would react about the yellow-eyed demon’s visits to Sam.

“I think Walker underestimated you, too,” John flashed him a grin; “you should’ve listened to Bobby, though, son. Walker was a dangerous man. I wish you’d called me…”

“How the hell could I?” Sam retorted, “We haven’t spoken in years, dad, and no one knew where you were or how to reach you, not even Bobby. How exactly was I supposed to contact you?”

John scowled then sighed, “Fair point.” He replied, sitting down on the armchair next to the bed. “I’ve been…busy. Look, you did good job on rescuing your brother and taking out some of the bastards that hurt him. But Sammy, you got to stop the killings now.”

“Bobby told you,” Sam said, knowing that of course Bobby had. “I will, I-I have, I mean, Walker and Kubrick were the last two.”

“Kubrick? You really did kill him too?” John asked in surprise,”fuck, Sam, these men were hunters!”

“That’s why I had to do it dad!” Sam retorted; “they were hunters and instead of helping Dean they left him in that place, just so they could use him too.”

“I’m not saying what you did was wrong; hell, I’d have liked to kill ‘em both too for what they did,” John said bitterly, “but two hunters disappearing will raise questions. It’ll get other hunters looking for them. You need to get away from here, go back to Stanford, and get off their radar.”

“I’m not going back to Stanford; that life is over for me now,” Sam sighed, suddenly feeling weary.

“Okay, you look exhausted, we’ll talk more in the morning,” John said as he stood up; “and as soon as Kate thinks you’re fit enough, we’ll head out to Bobby’s.”

“Can we just go, dad? Please, I need to see Dean and he needs me,” Sam pleaded.

“We’ll see what Kate says,” John replied firmly; “I’m gonna leave you to get some rest.”

Sam wanted to argue the point, to prove he could travel, but he was asleep almost as soon as John left the room.

 

Kate was pleased with Sam’s progress and suggested they stay one more night before setting off for Sioux Falls. Sam was a little surprised to find out that Kate was a veterinarian and not a regular doctor, but John informed him she treated a lot of hunters and had done so since her husband had been killed by a shape-shifter several years ago. John was the hunter who had killed the monster before it could harm anyone else and knew she would help Sam.

By the afternoon, Sam was getting a little stir-crazy and persuaded John to help him get up and walk around the room. With John’s support, Sam managed to make it to the door before his legs gave way, leaving John to steer him to the armchair.

“Ouch, that fucking hurt,” Sam groaned as he sat down too heavily in the chair.

“You’re doing fine, son, “John said encouragingly; “give yourself time.”

“Why’re you still here, dad?” Sam asked, looking up at his dad’s concerned face.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for the past few years all you’ve done is hunt the thing that killed mom, and take out any other monster that got in the way. You’ve never stopped, not even to look for Dean…”

“I did look for your brother!” John interjected.

“Not hard enough,” Sam said bluntly; “and you never even contacted me. Yet here you are now playing the caring father. Once you knew I’d make it, why didn’t you just clear off? Go back to your hunt? It’s always been more important to you than me or Dean.”

John looked devastated by Sam’s words. He sat on the edge of the bed and ran his hands through his thick hair. Sam was surprised at how much grey was sprinkled through the dark brown now.

“I’ve let you both down so badly, you and Dean. I let myself get consumed by revenge,” John sighed; “I wanted to kill that yellow-eyed son-of-a-bitch more than anything else. And you’re right; I should have dropped everything to search for Dean.” John looked up and Sam saw the guilt in his eyes. “I thought he was dead, Sam, I really did. He seemed to disappear off the face of the earth. I tried everything I could, every contact. I gave up on him, and I shouldn’t have. If I’d known where he was, what he was going through…” He shuddered and wiped his eyes.

“Dean would never have given up on you, or me,” Sam confessed, knowing he was equally to blame, “and I didn’t do enough to look for him either. You know what I hoped?” John looked up and shook his head. “I hoped he’d got out of the life. Met a girl, fallen in love, became a mechanic and got what he always wanted - a home and a family.”

“That would’ve been a much better alternative,” John smiled wryly; “I was so shocked when Bobby told me where Dean had been all these years. Fuck, I let him down so bad…and then when I saw you with Walker; saw what you did, saw how badly wounded you were, I knew I couldn’t let you down too. I knew I had to look after you and be there for you.” John sighed and rubbed his chin with his hand. “I’ve not been the best father to you, Sammy, but the thought of losing you as well as Dean was just unbearable…”

“Dean’s not lost, dad,” Sam said, “he’s going to be fine.”

“I hope you’re right.” John gazed at him for a moment. “You’re both a lot stronger and smarter than I give you credit for. Now, d’you wanna get back into bed or stay there?”

“I’ll stay here for a while,” Sam’s body protested at the new position but he was so tired of lying in bed; “but could you get me a coffee, dad?”

“Sure, no worries,” John replied, and then left the room.

Almost immediately his place on the bed was taken by the yellow-eyed demon.

“What the hell do you want?” Sam hissed.

“I just wanted to thank you, Sammy-boy. Your pa was real close to finding me, but now he’s got you and poor broken Dean to take care of, he’ll be off my back for a while.”

“I could yell and get him here now,” Sam scowled at the demon.

“You could, but has your daddy found a way to kill me yet?” The demon grinned.

“We’ll soon know when my dad finds you here,” Sam snarled.

“There’s no need for a show-down, yet, Sammy-boy,” The demon winked at Sam; “you’re looking good, considering the battering Walker gave you. I was rooting for you, kid. I’m pleased you made it; you’re still my favorite.”

Sam stared at the empty space where the demon had just been and was still staring when John came back carrying two coffee cups. John glanced at Sam as he sniffed the air.

“Sulfur?” he asked, looking around the room for the source, “Sam, what’s going on?”

Taking the coffee his father handed to him, Sam took a deep breath. He thought briefly about lying to John, making up some excuse, but he knew he had no choice. John listened as Sam told him about the demon’s visits and got visibly angrier as Sam continued, but didn’t interrupt him.

By the time Sam finished his explanation, he felt exhausted and anxious too. John paced the room, full of rage and distress. He stopped and looked at Sam, his anger melting a little as he took in his condition. Sam knew he must look pretty pathetic, with his shoulder, chest and hands all bandaged up, his broken nose and black eyes, and now sweat was forming on his forehead as his pain and anxiety grew.

“Let’s get you back to bed,” John said and it wasn’t what Sam expected him to say at all; “come on, up you get.” Lifting Sam to his feet, John swung him around to sit him on the bed. Sam was sweating even more now; every one of his wounds screaming for attention. “Hold on, son,” John muttered as he left the room, returning within a few minutes with Kate.

“What the hell were you thinking, letting him run around the room and sit up for so long?” she scolded John, “look at the state of him!”

“It’s okay, Kate, I wanted to get up, it’s not dad’s fault,” Sam explained and her face softened as she looked at him.

“Well, you need to rest now, young man. Take these pain killers first though.” She handed him the pills, watching as he swallowed them down with some water. John and Kate rearranged the pillows so Sam could lie down and then Kate discreetly withdrew, leaving them alone.

“I’m sorry, dad,” Sam whispered, feeling bad at bringing more trouble to his father’s door.

“You got nothing to be sorry for, son,” John replied; “get some sleep now, or Kate will be on the war path. And she’s scary, believe me; I’ve seen her castrate a dog!” John gave Sam a tired smile and he appreciated his dad’s lame attempt at humor.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Sam yawned as his eyes drifted closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks again to my lovely betas dizzojay and somersault_j for all their support to me, for spotting my errors, and for making this story so much better.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and John travel to Bobby's; John is shocked by the changes in Dean and finds it hard to handle. Sam starts to use the demon's spell on Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the characters of Sam and Dean or any others mentioned and I will not make any profit from this story.
> 
> I can’t say enough thanks to my lovely betas dizzojay and somersault_j for all their support, and for helping me with their feedback to each chapter to become a better writer

Sam slept most of the way to Sioux Falls, only really waking up once when John stopped for gas and for them both to use the restroom. Sam was awoken some time later by his stomach growling and his dad chuckling. 

“I guess we need to stop for food, your stomach’s been rumbling for a while now!” John grinned at him. “We’re over half-way there, so we should make it by nightfall.”

“That’s good,” Sam yawned and stretched his arms, wincing at the ache in his shoulder; “I need to take my pain meds too.”

“There’s a diner coming up, saw a sign for it a few miles back,” John informed him, then glanced at his son, “how you doing?”

“Well, my shoulder hurts like a son-of-a-bitch and the stitches itch. I can’t breathe through my nose and my head’s throbbing; otherwise I’m A-Okay!” Sam replied with a rueful smile.

They were soon sitting in a booth in a cozy diner, with gingham table cloths, paintings on the walls and sparkling cutlery. Sam was impressed; it was much nicer than most diners he was used to.

A friendly waitress took their order - a chicken salad for Sam with extra fries as he was starving, and a cheeseburger for John - and she tried not to stare too much at Sam’s busted nose and black eyes. John’s cheeseburger made Sam think of Dean; he hoped Dean was okay, and that he was more Dean and less William by now.

They ate their food in silence, both lost in thought, and it was John who finished up first. He pushed his plate away, rubbing his belly.

“That feels better,” he sighed, and Sam nodded around a mouthful of lettuce. It was tricky for Sam to cut up his chicken with one hand, but he was too stubborn to ask for help, so he was still just about half way through his meal. At least he could pick the fries up with his fingers.

John waited until Sam had stopped chewing and said, “Sam, I need to ask you something.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Sam replied.

“In your sleep you kept muttering Dean’s name and someone else’s. I have to ask,” John looked a little uncomfortable as he continued; “who’s William? You were kinda moaning his name a lot.”

Sam lost his appetite instantly and put his knife and fork down. 'Shit, shit, shit, what the hell can I say?' His mind ran in frenzied circles. 'He can’t know about me and Dean.' 

“Um, just…just a f-friend, at Stanford,” Sam stuttered.

“A good friend?” John prompted.

“Yeah, we, well, we’re pretty close,” Sam answered, hoping his dad would leave it there.

“I didn’t realize…I thought you had a girlfriend,” John eyed him slowly.

“I did, Jessica, we were engaged,” Sam said, trying to ignore his blushing face and jack-rabbiting heart, “it, um, didn’t work out. I left her at Stanford to look for Dean and she was pretty pissed when I told her I wouldn’t be back. She ended it.”

“Did she know about William?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’m – I’m not proud of cheating on her dad. I’m sorry,” Sam lied.

“I guess I never thought you’d be the cheating kind,” John eyed Sam thoughtfully; “you still seeing this William?”

“No, not now. He’s still at Stanford, too,” Sam said, relieved that the lie was easier to tell now, “I never meant to betray Jess, dad; she was away one night and William came over to study with me and we got a little drunk. He – he told me he liked me and one thing led to another.”

“But it wasn’t a one-off thing?” John asked, his voice calm. Sam was surprised how cool his dad seemed to be about him being bisexual; but fucking Dean? That would be another matter.

“No,” Sam blushed again, “Dad, can we, um, can we drop it now? I’m not proud of what I did.”

“Fine,” John hesitated before speaking again, “look, I’m disappointed Sammy, but I guess I got no right to criticize your life choices when I ain’t been around for years.”

Sam was still surprised at his dad’s tolerance and understanding; it made him feel confused and guilty. He excused himself to go to the restroom to get away from those too-kind brown eyes and, once in there, he sank onto the toilet seat with his head in his hands. His dad could never know about him and Dean. 'Take Dean away, use the spell, you know how much you miss those lips around your dick, how much you need to kiss him, touch him and fuck him.'

Sam washed his face in the sink and looked in the mirror. He looked like a freaking panda with his black eyes, but he was pleased the bruises were fading. He hoped his injuries wouldn’t upset Dean too much. He wanted Dean so badly, wanted not just to fuck him but to hold him close and tell him he loved him. It was sick, it was twisted, and he knew that; part of him hated the face looking back at him, hated the things he had done to Dean but he reasoned with himself that he loved Dean, more than a brother should, admittedly. He also told himself that Dean needed him, needed his care, his support and his love. And Dean had never been able to say no to anything Sam wanted. 'But you know Dean would say no to you fucking him, lucky you have the spell.'

Once back on the road, Sam pretended to fall asleep, but his mind was racing. He longed to see Dean and wished in a way he could be alone with him, without his dad or Bobby being around. 'You will have him all to yourself soon enough, just use the spell, take him away…'

“Sam,” his dad’s voice roused him and he realized he’d really fallen asleep; “we’re almost there.”

“Okay,” Sam rubbed his eyes and peered out of the window at the night sky.

They were soon parking up outside Bobby’s. Rumsfeld had starting barking at their approach and Bobby was already out on the front porch as they climbed out and stretched cramped muscles.

“John, Sam,” Bobby greeted them with a nod. ”Quiet Rumsfeld!” he snapped at his dog.

“Hey Bobby, how’s Dean?” Sam asked as he walked gingerly up the porch steps.

“Lookin’ a darn sight better’n you do right now!” Bobby clapped Sam on his good shoulder, “I see Walker didn’t go down easy.”

“You could say that,” Sam gave a wry grin.

“C’mon in. Dean’s up in the spare bedroom, he sleeps a lot,” Bobby explained as he ushered them inside his home.

“I’m gonna go see him,” Sam announced as he began to walk toward the stairs.

“Wait up, Sam,” Bobby said gruffly, “I need to tell you how to handle Dean.”

“What d’you mean?” John asked as Sam stopped and turned to look at Bobby.

“He’s more lucid now, knows who he is, where he is,” Bobby sighed wearily, “but he don’t know he was gone three years. He recalls being caught, being moved from the jail to The Brothel, but he thinks he was there weeks, not –not years.”

“Shit!” John exclaimed, “I had no idea he was this bad. What the fuck did they do to him?”

“It’s the drugs he was on,” Sam rounded angrily on his dad, “I fucking told you, dad, he didn’t even know his name when I found him, let alone what year it was!”

“You watch your mouth, boy!” John growled at him.

Just then they heard Dean call out “Sammy, is that you?” as he descended the stairs. When he saw Sam his face lit up with joy, but it rapidly fell into a frown as he noticed the bruising on Sam’s face and the sling holding his left arm. “Fuck, Sammy, you okay?”

Dean was instantly there, right in front of him, holding his face tenderly, cataloging his injuries and fussing over him just as he had when they were kids. “Hey, Dean, you look a lot better,” Sam managed to say past the lump in his throat.

“I’m doing okay….” Dean’s already pale face grew whiter still when he saw John standing a few feet away from Sam. “Dad!”

“Hey, kiddo,” John smiled warmly and moved forward to hug Dean, but Dean backed away, looking frightened.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, dad, I fucked up, I got caught, I let you down, I was stupid, I’m sorry!” Dean was speaking rapidly and breathing so fast he was almost hyperventilating; “I got Sammy hurt!” he ended in a wail.

“Hey, Dean, it’s okay; I’m just pleased you’re safe,” John reassured gently, approaching him slowly and reaching out to touch him. Stepping back in panic, Dean half fell, half sat on the bottom steps of the staircase. He put his head in his hands and started to sob.

“He doesn’t like being touched,” Bobby explained quietly, “John, come and have a drink, I could do with one or five. Leave the boys to it for a moment.”

Sam was grateful for Bobby’s tact and understanding; he looked at his dad, who seemed to be unable to do anything but stare at his eldest son as he sat sobbing on the stairs.

“Dad, he’ll be alright. I’ll see to him,” Sam said and John broke his gaze to look at him. Giving Sam a curt nod, the tears in his eyes revealed his true feelings.

“C’mon, John, let’s get that drink,” Bobby coaxed and John followed his friend through to the kitchen.

“Dean, hey, look at me,” Sam murmured as he stroked Dean’s hair, “I’m gonna be fine and dad’s not mad at you; you don’t need to be upset.”

“I le-let dad down, sc-screwed up,” Dean hiccuped, his face still buried in his hands, “got you h-hurt Sammy, was so w-worried ‘bout you,” Dean looked up at him now and Sam wanted to gasp at his beauty. Crying always turned Dean’s eyes a deeper shade of green, and made him look younger, more vulnerable. Sam wanted to hold him, to protect him and never let him go.

“Come here,” Sam held out his right hand and pulled Dean to his feet. . Dean was soon wrapped in Sam’s right arm, leaning against him as he sobbed into his shoulder. He told Dean over and over that everything was alright until Dean’s sobs began to subside.

He gently pushed Dean away to look at him.

“S-sorry for being s-such a girl,” Dean muttered with an attempt at a smile.

“I’ll tease you later, princess,” Sam grinned, “for now d’you wanna go see dad or go back to bed?”

Dean bit his bottom lip as he decided; Sam had to resist the urge to pin him to the wall to bite those lips too. “I should go see dad…” he eventually replied half-halfheartedly, but he squared his shoulders and flashed Sam another almost-smile; “I guess he’s been worrying over me.”

Sam followed Dean through to the kitchen. This time when John stood up and smiled at Dean, he stayed where he was, not initiating any physical contact. Dean stopped a few feet from John and seemed unsure what to do.

Breaking the awkward moment, Bobby pulled out a chair and said, too heartily, “Well, c’mon boys, sit yer asses down.”

Dean took the chair Bobby indicated but didn’t reach for one of the beer bottles. John sat back down and took a swig of his whisky.

“Sorry about before,” Dean muttered, “I thought you’d be mad.”

“I’m not mad at you, son,” John replied, “Sam told me some of what you went through, how long you fought against them.” He gave Dean a grim smile; “I’m proud of you, Dean.”

Dean’s green eyes filled with tears but he dashed them away with his fingers before they fell. He whispered, “I ain’t done nothing for you to be proud of,” he whispered; “it’s my fault Sammy left school and got beat up so bad.”

“Dean, it’s not your fault, I made the decision to quit school and look for you,” Sam said sincerely, “and I made the decision to go after Wal…” Sam quickly stopped himself from saying that bastard’s name, changing it to “…after the men who hurt you.”

“Thanks for getting me out, Sammy, I don’t remember much, but I know you saved me,” Dean said gratefully; “and then you got yourself hurt ‘cause of me, I’m sorry.”

“Sam’s right, Dean,” John interjected, “you gotta stop blaming yourself for what happened. You need to move on now, put it behind you and get yourself well.”

“I know, I will, it’s just that I feel like I’ve lost part of myself, an’ I feel so damned tired all the time.” Almost on cue, Dean stifled a yawn. Sam knew Dean would never have admitted anything like this before his time at The Brothel, he would never have admitted to any weakness.

“It’s early days yet, kid,” Bobby smiled kindly at Dean, “you’re beat, go on up; Sammy and your daddy will still be here tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I’m real tired…” Dean stood up and bit his bottom lip again, “um, Sammy could you…would you share the room with me? Like we used to? If that’s okay with you, Bobby,”

There were two beds in Bobby’s spare room, which could be joined together to make a double but were usually kept separate. 'They won’t be separated tonight though, will they? You can get your hands on that soft freckled flesh; kiss those soft sweet lips…'

“Sure, unless you want Sam to curl up like a pretzel on the sofa,” Bobby chided.

Dean shook his head, mumbled good night to them all and left the room.

“Those fucking bastards,” John hissed, as soon as Dean was out of earshot; “I wish you hadn’t killed ‘em Sammy, ‘cause I fucking want to!” He stood up, pacing the floor like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“He’s in a bad way, John,” Bobby said, “sometimes he wakes up and still thinks he’s there. He screams and cries in his sleep; but he’s getting better.”

“He’s like a fucking ghost, Bobby, he’s so thin and looks so fucking scared,” John stopped his pacing and sat down wearily. 

Reaching for the whisky bottle, he filled his tumbler again. “I barely recognized him. Where’s my cocky, clever, tough, arrogant boy? Where’s my soldier? I knew it was bad, but he’s so broken…”

“He’s still your boy, John,” Bobby growled, “he’s still your son; he never was your fucking soldier!”

'No, he’s not yours, he’s my boy, my Dean, mine!' Sam wanted to shout. Instead he listened to them talk, feeling emotionally as well as physically exhausted.

“You know what I mean, Bobby!” John protested. “He looks so young, so lost, so fucking vulnerable. What’s he gonna do now? He can’t hunt like this; he can’t go back to his old life.”

“He can stay here as long as he needs to, help out around the place,” Bobby suggested; “he’s a good mechanic and I’d appreciate the help - plus he seems settled here,” he added.

“Yeah, thanks Bobby, for taking him in, for taking care of him,” John sighed, “I’m just so happy to get him back, but so fucking angry too, I feel like my head’s spinning.”

“Tell me about it,” Sam joined in, “it’s just how I felt; it’s why I had to do something, to make those bastards pay.”

“I get it, Sam, I really do,” John patted his arm affectionately. Sam knew his dad was slightly drunk so he wasn’t too taken aback at the sign of affection; “m’proud of you too. My boys, I got my boys back.”

Sam had never heard his dad speaking like this. He knew it was partly due to the alcohol but it was still a shock to the system that his dad really cared about him and Dean, that he was proud of them. Yeah, he cared so much he ignored you for three years and gave up looking for Dean. Sam’s hands shook in frustration; he felt so conflicted about his dad right now.

“You okay Sam? You’re lookin' pale,” Bobby asked in concern.

“I’m just tired, Bobby,” Sam replied, “and I need to take my pain meds.” Rising from the table he collected his duffle from the hallway. When he returned to the kitchen Bobby had poured him a glass of water and was making cold chicken sandwiches.

“You should eat with the meds,” Bobby said, dropping a sandwich onto a plate and thrusting it towards Sam.

“Yeah, probably,” Sam sat back down and chewed the sandwich. Bobby always did something that made his chicken taste delicious and Sam appreciated both Bobby’s hidden culinary skills and his enduring friendship to the Winchesters. “Thanks, Bobby, it’s real good.”

Bobby placed a plate in front of John, who pushed it away churlishly; “not hungry,”

“My house, my rules,“ Bobby growled, “an’ that means no drinking on an empty stomach.”

“We already ate, stopped at a diner,” John grumbled.

“That was hours ago, I’ll bet, now eat!” Bobby ordered. Sam hid his grin at his dad being spoken to like a naughty child; only Bobby could get away with it.

John mumbled something that sounded like a sarcastic “yessir!” and grabbed a sandwich.

Bobby winked at Sam, who coughed to cover up a chuckle. Sam finished his food, took his pills and made his way upstairs to wash and change before going to bed. He could hear his dad still chatting with Bobby and was grateful that the two older men were occupied. Creeping into the room he had shared so many times with Dean, he saw Dean sleeping; he was curled up on his side, the light from the bedside casting a golden glow over his hair and giving his pale skin a translucent glow.

Sam’s dick jumped to attention as soon as he laid eyes on his brother. It had only been days that they had been apart but it felt so much longer. Sam was exhausted and his body was sore, but he needed Dean right now, needed to see those green eyes, needed to touch him, needed to taste his lips…

He had enough presence of mind to pull his gaze away from Dean to lock the bedroom door; it was unlikely that anyone would enter the room but, with his dad being drunk and unpredictable, he wasn’t taking any chances. The slight noise of the lock sliding into place made Dean twitch in his sleep and murmur “no, no, please”.

Crossing the room quietly, Sam sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to stroke Dean’s hair. “You won’t ever need to say no to me Dean, because I’ll never hurt you. I love you and I want you to be happy,” he whispered, “I’m going to take all those bad memories away and make you mine, so you’ll only ever want to say yes to me.” He lifted Dean’s hand and kissed his knuckles, then held it, squeezing it slightly to rouse his brother.

“Dean, hey, it’s me, Sammy,” Sam said, smiling as Dean blinked open his eyes.

“Sammy, wha’…wha’s wrong…?” Dean grumbled, still sleepy.

“Nothing’s wrong, I just missed you and wanted to see you,” Sam replied, “didn’t you miss me?”

“Yeah, course I did,” Dean frowned at Sam, “dude, why’re you holding my hand?”

“Just wanted to get your attention,” Sam smiled. It was good to have his Dean back, and not the Brothel boy, William. It will be good to have those lips back around your dick too, where they belong

“You look like shit, you should go to bed,” Dean yawned, “an’ let me go back to sleep.”

“You can sleep soon,” Sam kept hold of his brother’s hand and said, “now, look at me, Dean.”

Dean stared at him in some confusion; luckily the demon’s spell was deceptively short and simple, and Sam had memorized it easily. However, it would only work if he had both physical contact and eye contact with Dean, and it had to be repeated three times. “Vos es mei ; vos mos operor quis ego dico vos;” Sam stared at Dean, watching intently for any change; “Vos es mei ; vos mos operor quis ego dico vos;” he repeated and noticed a slight light flicker in his brother’s eyes; “Vos es mei ; vos mos operor quis ego dico vos.” He was almost breathless with anticipation as he finished the spell.

“Sammy, you’re such a girl, you can let go of my hand,” Dean chuckled, seemingly unaware of the spell, “I’m okay now; hell, I’m in better shape than you!”

“That’s good; because we’re gonna push the beds together, then I’m going to lie down and you’re going to suck my dick, okay?” Sam said as he released Dean’s hand and stroked his cheek; “and Dean, you’re going to love doing it.”

“Sure, Sammy,” Dean grinned, “I’m gonna love doing it.”

Sam gave a sigh of relief; it had worked! Dean was almost back to his old self with one big difference – now he really was Sam’s. 

“But you can’t go around moving furniture with one arm,” Dean fussed, “you should lie down.” Climbing off the bed, he gently helped Sam lower his battered body down onto the mattress before pushing the other bed across and quickly bolting the frames together. Then he straddled Sam’s legs and bent his head down, ready to do what Sam had commanded.

“Wait, hold on,” Sam interrupted him; “kiss me first; I want to taste your lips.”

Dean hesitated and Sam’s heart stopped in his chest, thinking the spell had already stopped working, but his brother was just trying to work out how to kiss him without hurting him. Dean shuffled up a little bit and placed his hands either side of Sam’s head, then leaned down to kiss him, careful to avoid his various injuries. It was a tentative kiss at first and Sam reached up to cup Dean’s head with his large hand, pulling him closer as his tongue slid along Dean’s lips, demanding that they open. Dean groaned as Sam slid his tongue into his mouth and sucked it. They kissed for a few minutes until Sam’s dick was fully hard and required immediate attention, especially when he felt Dean’s equally hard dick slide against it.

“Holy shit, Sammy,” Dean gasped as Sam pulled away; he grinned as he rubbed his dick against Sam’s “you’re fucking huge!”

“Don’t worry, Dean, you can take it,” Sam smiled back, “now why don’t you kiss your way down to my dick and make me happy?”

Dean chuckled, “anyone ever tell you you’re fucking bossy?” he teased, but he was already bending down, kissing Sam’s uninjured shoulder, then his chest, nuzzling along the edges of the bandages around his knife wound. He quickly removed Sam’s jeans and boxers, then peppered his thighs with kisses. 

“Fuck! That’s it, God, yes,” Sam moaned, “now Dean, please!”

Dean kept kissing his thigh but moved towards his dick, then licked the weeping tip, making Sam’s body jerk in response as he yelled out, “oh fuck!”

They heard a sudden thump on the door and Bobby’s voice startled them both; “hey, you alright in there?” he called, “we heard some noises and cursing,”

Holding his finger to his lips, Sam prompted Dean to keep quiet and yelled back “we’re okay Bobby, I just hurt my shoulder as I got into bed,”

“Okay, be more careful, ya idjit!” Bobby replied. The brothers listened in silence as they heard his footsteps fade away.

Frozen with his mouth suspended inches from Sam’s dick, Dean started giggling like a naughty schoolboy and Sam swiped him playfully around the head. “Shush, he’ll hear you!” he hissed, not able to hide his smile. He loved seeing Dean laughing again.

“Sorry, Sammy, imagine Bobby’s face if he’d walked in!” Dean chuckled and resumed licking Sam’s dick from top to bottom, grasping the base in one hand and using his free hand to stroke him. Sam didn’t need any more stimulation, he was more than ready.

“Dean!!” he groaned, and it was part-command, part-plea, “for fuck’s sake…”

Dean finally took pity on him and started to suck at his tip, taking his dick inside a little at a time, and driving Sam crazy. Once he was as far inside Dean’s mouth as possible, he grabbed Dean’s hair, holding his head still so he could thrust inside him. Dean gasped and choked but Sam told him to breathe and take it, and Dean obeyed. This was so fantastic, having complete control over Dean; and even better because he was his Dean, full of life and laughter. It was so unlike being with “William”, who had really been nothing but a sex toy wearing Dean’s face, any responses trained into him by The Brothel. Now Dean was his eager and willing partner. 'Yeah, you tell yourself that, if it makes you feel better.' 

Sam came quickly and Dean swallowed him down, gasping as Sam released his hold on his head and he pulled off. He wiped his mouth and looked at Sam, almost like he wanted instruction.

“Lick your lips and your hand Dean, then kiss me again,” Sam instructed, watching avidly as Dean licked Sam’s come from his lips and fingers. Dean leaned forward to kiss him and his arms trembled at the effort. Sam wasn’t sure if Dean was trembling from his own arousal, exhaustion, or a combination of both. He kissed Dean briefly then pushed him onto his back. “Let me take care of you now,” he whispered and reached his right hand out to stroke Dean’s already hard dick.

“Fuck…God…yes!” Dean gasped as Sam ran his hand up and down the silky flesh. It was too dry, Sam hadn’t thought about lube, but Dean didn’t seem to mind and when Sam whispered “come” Dean did so, his body rigid as he spurted his release all over Sam’s hand and his own stomach. Dean’s body went lax and he huffed out a deep breath. Sam placed his hand up to Dean’s lips and told him to lick them. Once Dean had done so, Sam ran his fingers over Dean’s flat stomach, collecting more of his come, feeding it to Dean’s eager mouth.

“Fuck, Sammy, where’d you learn to do that? So fucking good…” Dean groaned as he licked the last drops of his come from his lips.

“There’s a lot I know Dean, and we’re going to have so much fun together,” Sam promised, lying down to pull Dean against him with his good arm. “I’m gonna look after you and no one’s ever gonna hurt you again. I love you, Dean.”

“Stow the chick flick…” Dean began to say.

“Tell me how much you love me, Dean,” Sam interrupted him, pleased that he could prevent Dean’s usual method of side-stepping away from having to express himself.

“I love you so much, Sammy, I have since the moment I first saw you. I never told you this before but used to sing to you and tickle your feet to make you smile when you were a baby. I used to give you my share of the food when we were kids and dad was away.” Dean was in full flow now and Sam loved hearing him say words he hadn’t heard before. “I would do anything for you, little brother. And I hated it when you went to Stanford, missed you so fucking much, and when I was there…in that…that place, all I could think about was you. Thought I was gonna die in there, Sammy, but I knew I had to see you again. I love you more than anyone Sammy, you know I do.” Dean came to an end, looking a little shocked by his own candid admissions.

“I know you do,” Sam smiled, “it’s just so good to hear you say it. Now you go to sleep, and don’t think about that place, okay?” 

He kissed Dean’s shoulder and felt his body relax. Soon Dean was sleeping peacefully, cradled by Sam’s arm against his body. It felt so good, so right. He smiled sleepily and knew he had never been happier than he was at this moment. If the demon wasn’t such an evil bastard, Sam would have thanked him for the spell.

Sam had Dean back, and exactly how he wanted him.

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The translation of the spell - from Google so I hope it's correct! - is "You are mine; you will do what I say unto you."


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spell starts to have an effect on Dean as he struggles to deal with what happened to him. John and Sam butt heads over Dean and Bobby keeps the situation under control. Dean is devastated by something he overhears.

Sam woke up to an empty bed and the enticing aroma of fresh coffee. He hadn’t heard Dean get up; in fact he hadn’t heard Dean at all through the night, so he guessed the nightmares must have stopped. He smiled; it looked like the spell had other beneficial effects, like helping Dean to forget The Brothel. Hearing muffled voices from downstairs, he heaved himself awkwardly out of bed with a sigh. His injuries were healing quickly, but still not fast enough for his liking.

“Morning, sleepin’ beauty!” Dean grinned over his shoulder, as Sam wandered into the kitchen. Bobby was sitting at the table eating bacon, fried eggs and hash browns; Dean was busy at the stove cooking more bacon.

“Yer brother’s decided to make breakfast,” Bobby commented wryly; “I gotta say I’m surprised, but I ain’t complaining!”

“I was gonna bring yours up to you, Sammy,” Dean said, as he flipped the bacon over.

“Wow, thanks!” Sam exclaimed as he sat at the table, feeling as nonplussed as Bobby looked. Dean had always liked cooking, not that he had much chance with their nomadic lifestyle.

John arrived next, scratching his head as he mumbled, “something smells good!” He stopped when he saw Dean happily piling bacon onto a plate.

“Morning, dad,” Dean replied cheerily, as he put the plate of bacon on the table, “help yourself, just doing some more eggs, there’s more hash browns comin’ too.”

“Dean,” John stared at his elder son for a moment; “you seem better this morning.”

“Well, as you said, I gotta put it all behind me now,” Dean said casually, as he resumed cooking.

John and Bobby exchanged concerned looks as John sat down, giving Sam a grim smile.

“You’re looking better too, son,” he said, “I think your guardian angels must be working overtime.”

“Nah, it’s good genes!” Sam grinned, trying to make light of the fact that his wounds were healing faster than normal, and Dean had changed from being the frightened, ashamed wreck of last night to the cheerful, happy chef cooking for them this morning.

“An’ they’re young, John.” Bobby paused eating long enough to join in. “You bounce back easier when you got fewer miles under the hood.”

Finishing his cooking, Dean joined them at the table, and dug into the food with relish. It made Sam think of how he’d had to instruct “William” to eat and the way he had eaten so mechanically, not even seeming to taste the food; his vision suddenly blurred with hot tears.

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean asked him when he saw his tear-filled eyes.

Sam faked a cough and muttered, “bacon… bacon got stuck.”

Dean thumped him on the back and then pulled Sam’s plate over to cut up his food for him. Sam was lucky he had thought to fake choking on the bacon, as his eyes brimmed again. It was such a typical thing for Dean to do, to take care of him, to cut up his food, to wipe his face; to love him. 'And he showed you last night just how much he loves you, didn’t he?'

“There ya go, ya one-armed bandit,” Dean chuckled as he pushed Sam’s plate back to him.

“I ain’t a freaking kid anymore, Dean; I can cut my own food,” Sam grumbled, as Dean would expect him to.

“Sure, Sammy, you tell that to those lethal pieces of bacon!” Dean shot back, unrepentant.

John exchanged another look with Bobby. Sam knew they couldn’t believe the change in Dean overnight; they were no doubt wondering what was going on with him and half-expecting his cheery façade to crumble.

“How’re you doing, Dean?” John asked between mouthfuls.

“I’m fine, d’you want more bacon?” he replied, standing up to get more.

“Wait, son, sit down,” John requested and Dean sat back down looking confused. “We’re all good, the breakfast is great. I ‘m just worried about you, after…”

“I said I’m fine,” Dean snapped, and Sam suppressed a smile at the familiar snarky tone; “what d’you want me to do, sit in the corner crying all day? I fucked up, I got caught and I got punished. I don’t wanna think about it, an’ I definitely don’t wanna talk about it, okay?”

“Sure, if that’s what you want, but you watch your language, son; we’re guests in this house,” John reprimanded him.

“Sorry, sir,” Dean replied sheepishly; “I just wanna get back on the road, do my job.”

This was news to Sam and he couldn’t help blurt out, “you can’t be thinking of hunting again?”

Dean frowned, bewildered, “What the hell else can I do, Sam?”

“You could take some time to get over what happened…” Sam began but Dean stood up so fast his chair clattered to the floor.

“I don’t need time; I just want my fucking life back!” Dean yelled angrily, then stormed out of the kitchen. They heard the porch door slam behind him and they sat in stunned silence for a moment.

“I should go after him,” Sam said, wanting to comfort Dean and hold him in his arms.

“Leave him be,” Bobby chided; “you two idjits need to give him some space.”

“Yeah, I know,” John sighed, “but I’m just so fucking worried about him.”

“He’s probably got Post Traumatic Stress, after all he’s been through,” Sam added, finding a suitable reason for Dean’s erratic behavior, “and you’re right Bobby, he needs space.”

“I've known guys with PTS an’ they’re not exactly stable; prone to mood swings and shit like that. D’you think that’s what this is?” John said, looking from Sam to Bobby, almost like he was seeking reassurance.

“Sure, Sam’s hit the nail on the head,” Bobby agreed, looking relieved that there was a reasonable cause for Dean’s behavior; “the poor kid’s been to hell an’ back.”

John sighed again and ran his hands through his thick hair. “Look, this is a bad time to bring this up, but I need you two to look out for him, keep him safe…”

“You leavin’ already?” Bobby asked disdainfully.

“I got no choice, I’m getting so close to the demon now, Bobby, I can feel it,” John replied.

“And how is looking for him so much more important than being here for Dean?” Sam asked bitterly.

“It’s not more important, Sammy, you know that,” John replied; “but Dean will be just fine here with you two, there’s nothing I can do to help him; as you both said, he just needs time.”

“He needs you, we need you!” Sam thumped his fist on the table, surprised by his own reaction. He felt that with John around, life just seemed more ‘normal; not that ‘normal’ had ever really applied to them. Also, with John around, Sam hoped the demon was less likely to visit him. 'But if he’s not around you can do what you like to Dean, Bobby’s easier to hoodwink…'

John scowled at Sam; “you got each other and you got Bobby; you don’t need me to babysit your asses too!”

“You’re unbelievable!” Sam yelled, “It’s the same selfish obsession…”

“Enough!” Bobby barked, standing up and glaring at both of them; “you two are always butting heads about any god-damned subject. For once, just quit your belly-achin’ and think about Dean.”

“I am thinking about him, Bobby,” Sam snapped petulantly.

“Then stop fightin’ with your daddy,” Bobby growled, glaring at them both.

“You’re right,” John conceded; “Dean’s our priority here and I’ll stay one more night; spend some time with you boys. But I’m gone tomorrow, okay?”

“It’s better than nothing,” Sam agreed, adding, “thanks, dad.”

 

Sam found Dean outside a little later, sitting on the hood of an old beat-up Cadillac, just staring at the ground. He looked up as Sam approached and smiled self-consciously at him.

“You okay?” Sam asked, settling himself on the edge of the hood next to Dean.

“I’m fine,” Dean shrugged, “well, apart from throwing tantrums.”

“You’ve been through a lot, Dean, it’s gonna be hard to get back to normal,” Sam replied.

“Huh, normal,” Dean snorted derisively; “what the hell do we know about being normal?”

“Do you want to?” Sam questioned; “be normal, I mean? Get a job, a house…”

Dean looked at Sam like he had grown two heads. “You want me to be a regular Joe?”

“I’d like you to try it,” Sam placed his hand on Dean’s knee; “will you try it for me, Dean?”

“Sure, Sammy,” Dean nodded enthusiastically, “we could get a house, you could go back to college, we could even get a dog – you always wanted a dog.”

Sam laughed and pulled Dean into an awkward hug; “that sounds like a great idea!” He sent another silent thanks to the demon for the spell. He had wanted to use it to continue to make love to Dean, so he hadn’t really thought about how he could use it to control Dean in other ways. The best thing was that he really felt that he was helping his brother, making him happy and keeping him safe.

Sam envisioned a future just as Dean had said, with them living together; Sam going back to study law, Dean working as a mechanic. They would finally have a home, a real home, and Sam would have Dean all to himself, especially at night. Sam ignored the small voice inside him that told him Dean would never agree to any of that, because he loved Dean and was doing what was best for him. 'And best for you too, he’s the best fuck of your life, with the best cock-sucking lips…'

“Geroff me!” Dean muttered into Sam’s jacket, pushing Sam away from him. “What’s up with you and personal space, Sasquatch?”

“I’m just happy to have you back, Dean,” Sam grinned, loving that Dean was still his usual snarky self despite the spell’s influence.

“I know you are, but keep your paws to yourself,” Dean grumbled.

“You like me to touch you, don’t you Dean?” Sam asked, unable to resist the temptation.

“Yeah, I do, Sammy,” Dean readily agreed.

“Then hug me back,” Sam instructed and sighed happily as Dean hugged him tightly.

“You boys okay?” Bobby’s voice called out from the porch. Dean didn't quickly jump away, like he would have if caught hugging anyone before.

“Yeah, we’re fine, Bobby. Dean just needed some TLC,” Sam called back, gently moving away from Dean.

“I need to go on a supply run, unless you boys fancy going?” Bobby said.

“Sure, we’ll go. It’ll give Dean a chance to drive as I can’t,” Sam indicated his sling.

“I don’t think Dean should be driving yet,” John said, emerging from behind Bobby.

“I’ll be fine, dad,” Dean insisted; “I’ve been itching to get behind the wheel of my Baby.”

Sam had been impressed that Bobby had managed to trace the Impala after Dean’s disappearance, using his dubious and varied contacts. Bobby had hoped at the time it would give them some leads to track Dean and had been frustrated to hit yet more brick walls. Dean looked so happy to be reunited with his wheels and Sam was grateful Bobby had found her.

“You haven’t driven in…” John hesitated, “…months, you might be a little rusty.”

“I’ll be with him, dad,” Sam countered, “it’ll be okay,”

John contemplated his son’s words for a moment then nodded, “okay, but don’t go letting him get caught for dangerous driving, or speeding.”

Dean’s face went pale at John’s words. “No, I can’t get caught…” he mumbled; “can’t get caught…can’t get caught…” Dean looked terrified, almost on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. Sam could have killed his dad for being so thoughtless; luckily he knew what to do to help Dean.

“Dean, hey, look at me,” Sam shook his brother’s arm gently; “you won’t get caught, okay?”

“Okay,” Dean whispered in response, looking at Sam with complete trust. It made Sam feel so responsible for him, and he vowed to do all he could to help his brother.

Sam was aware of the concerned look that passed between his dad and Bobby, but chose to ignore it. His focus was on Dean; he didn’t want to see that look of fear on Dean’s face ever again.

“Um, I got a list, stuff we need, when you’re ready,” Bobby said, breaking the tension; “John, let’s get back inside.”

John glanced from Sam to Dean, and followed Bobby silently back into the house.

Once alone, Sam took Dean’s hand in his own and squeezed it gently. Dean looked a little confused, but smiled at Sam.

“You looking forward to driving, Dean?” Sam stood up and held onto Dean’s hand, pulling him up too.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Dean glanced at the door. “Hey, Sammy, why’d dad think I shouldn't be driving?”

“He’s just worried about you, you've had a rough time,” Sam could feel a tremor in Dean’s hand and held it tighter; “but you’re strong, Dean, and you’re doing really well.”

“I don’t feel strong,” Dean muttered, his eyes downcast.

“Dean, you’re my big brother, and you’re strong, stronger than you know,” Sam released Dean’s hand and cupped his chin, tipping his face up to look at him; “tell me you’re strong,”

“I’m strong, Sammy,” Dean said, his green eyes fixed on Sam’s.

“Yeah, you are,” Sam smiled at him; “let’s go and see what Bobby wants us to get.”

 

They were soon on the road, a list from Bobby carefully stowed in Dean’s back pocket. Dean was singing along to the radio as he drove, the sun was shining and Sam marveled at how normal it all felt. 'Yes, and it will feel so normal to fuck your brother tonight, won’t it?'

Dean looked apprehensive when they pulled up outside the local grocery store but Sam told him it was safe and he was fine. It was pretty empty inside as it was late morning, but Sam noticed how anxious Dean looked if anyone got close to him. They collected all the items on the list plus a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue as a thank you for Bobby.

There was a diner near the grocery store and Dean glanced over at it as they loaded the bags into the car. He licked his lips unconsciously and Sam fought down the desire to kiss him right here, right now, in the store’s parking lot.

“Do you want to get something in the diner?” Sam asked, teasing his brother. “Something like, oh, I dunno, pie?”

“Hell, yeah!” Dean grinned. “We ain’t in no rush are we?”

“No, we’ve got time,” Sam replied; “I don’t think dad and Bobby will have the search party out just yet for us!”

Dean strode towards the diner, but as they neared the door two huge men, looking like truckers, were leaving. They were both as tall as Dean but much larger in frame and Dean stopped, dropped his gaze and was about to sink to his knees when Sam grabbed his arm. They were chatting to each other and luckily they had barely noticed Dean or Sam.

“Hey Dean, it’s alright, I’ve got you,” Sam reassured, still supporting Dean’s weight with his good arm; “no one’s gonna hurt you.”

Dean looked like he was going to pass out or vomit. “Dean, listen to me, you’re alright, you’re fine.”

As his trembling eased, Dean stood more upright, “sorry, just…they…just…”

“C’mon, let’s grab a seat and get some coffee,” Sam opened the diner door and Dean followed him in, his earlier eagerness now gone. He walked as close to Sam as possible without actually touching and sank into the seat opposite Sam, not looking at anyone or anything other than Sam and his own hands, resting on the table.

Sam ordered two coffees from the waitress, knowing Dean probably didn’t feel like eating right now.

“Dean?” Sam reached out and stroked his hand, “you good?”

Dean nodded but still looked pale and nervous. “I can’t remember much but sometimes I get like a flash, a memory, of…of pain…of men holding me down,” he whispered, his eyes still on his hands.

“Dean, you’re going to be okay. Those men, I took care of them, they’ll never hurt you or anyone else again. Do you understand?” Sam asked, keeping his voice low. The diner only had a few customers and no one was paying them any attention, so he took Dean’s hand in his own, “you’re safe Dean, and I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Thanks, Sammy; for-for everything,” Dean finally looked up at him, and Sam was pleased to see some color returning to his face, “I don’t know what I’d do without you, you make me feel safe.”

Sam felt a twinge of guilt at Dean’s faith and trust in him, but he also felt proud that he was the one who could help Dean overcome his trauma and if he could make him forget it all he would.

The waitress brought their coffees and asked if they wanted anything else. Dean’s eyes lit up and he asked what pies they had. She reeled off a short list and after some deliberation Dean chose hot cherry pie, with vanilla ice cream. Sam ordered apple pie, not for himself, but for Dean as he knew he really wanted both, and he would do anything to make Dean happy.

 

When they got back to Bobby’s Dean looked exhausted and didn’t even argue when Sam suggested he have a nap once they had unloaded. Sam felt pretty weary himself, and decided to join Dean. As they opened the door they could hear raised voices from the kitchen.

“There’s something going on with him, Bobby; don’t give me the PTS crap again!” John yelled.

“Of course there’s something going on with him,” Bobby retorted loudly, ”he was in that place for three years, he ain’t gonna get over that in a fucking hurry!”

“Shit,” Sam looked at Dean who was frozen by the door, gripping the bag in his arms tightly, his eyes wide; there was no question that he had heard Bobby.

“Dean, look at me,” Sam coaxed but Dean was backing away from him, towards the door and Sam thought for a moment he was going to make a run for it. Instead his back hit the door and he sank to the floor, shaking his head, still grasping the bag of groceries.

“Holy crap!” Bobby exclaimed as he appeared from the kitchen at the sudden noise. “Fuck it; we didn’t hear you come in.”

Sam ignored the older man and crouched down next to Dean. “Hey Dean,” he reached out his hand and Dean recoiled from him, curling his long legs up against his chest, and squashing the bag of groceries. The carton of eggs, that had been perched on top, fell to the floor.

John had joined them now too and glared at Bobby; “he heard then? He had to know sooner or later.” Sam saw red at his father’s insensitive words.

“You’re a callous bastard, d’you know that?” Sam hissed at his dad. “Dean’s been doing really well and I’d have told him when the time was right!”

“That’s because you’re treating him like he’s a kid.” John retorted. “If he was in his right mind he’d tell you to fuck off!”

“Quit it, both of ya,” Bobby growled; “look at him!”

Dean’s head was buried in the squashed grocery bag, his shoulders were shaking as he whimpered “no, no, no.”

“Fuck, what should we do?” John looked stricken.

“Leave ‘im to Sammy, he seems to respond better to him,” Bobby suggested.

“Even if I treat him like a kid?” Sam couldn’t resist adding bitterly.

“Just see to your brother, Sam,” John said flatly as he turned and walked away.

“You know where we’ll be if you need us,” Bobby added before he left them too.

Sam knelt down, slowly placing his hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean flinched and tried to move away but Sam whispered “stay right there, Dean,” and Dean obeyed. “Dean, you have to trust me,” he began; “you know I love you and I’m looking out for you.” Moving his hand up from Dean’s shoulder, Sam gently caressed his neck, and reached down to stroke his chin. “Dad and Bobby are here for you too; you’re safe. Please look at me, Dean,” he lifted Dean’s chin slightly.

Dean was muttering quietly to himself, looking through Sam with unfocused eyes. Sam spoke a little louder; “stop it, Dean, look at me.” Dean ceased his muttering and his eyes gradually focused on Sam.

“Three years?” he whispered his voice as wrecked as his face. “I-I was there three years?”

“Yes, I’m sorry we didn’t tell you; we just wanted you to be a bit stronger before knowing the truth,” Sam replied as he stroked Dean’s cheek, the stubble tickling his fingertips. Sam wanted to kiss him and to pick him up in his arms, carry him up the stairs and make sweet, tender love to him. It was only Bobby and his dad’s presence that stopped him. 'Later, you’ll have him later; he’ll be yours, all yours, his body and his mind.'

“I-I don’t remember much, Sammy,” Dean murmured; “why…why can’t I remember?”

“You were drugged up, you didn’t even know your name, or who you were when I found you,” Sam hesitated at the memory of Dean kneeling so obediently, licking those beautiful lips. Dean was still staring at him, needing comfort and reassurance, so he continued; “but none of it matters, Dean. I got you back, you’re doing really well and to be honest, if you never remember those three years it will be for the best”.

Pulling away from Sam with surprising strength, Dean got up, and ran up the stairs leaving Sam kneeling alone. “Shit,” Sam cussed under his breath, knowing he had said the wrong thing and upset Dean further. A door slammed upstairs as Sam wearily stood up, just as his dad appeared, glancing from Sam to the stairs.

“What happened? How’s he doing?” he asked.

“He’s a mess, he’s in shock,” Sam sighed; “but it was going okay, he was calming down, but I said something stupid and he bolted.”

“What did you say?” John growled, like all this was Sam’s fault.

“I just said its better if he never remembers those three years,” Sam retorted; “and why the hell would he want to?”

“Fuck it, don’t you see he remembers enough to fill in the blanks?” John hissed angrily. “He fucking knows he was repeatedly raped …” John shuddered at the awful word before continuing, “… tortured and abused for years!”

“How the hell we gonna get him through this?” Bobby said sadly, startling Sam as he hadn’t noticed the older guy joining them, “an’ don’t give me none of this he’s a tough kid crap,” he glared pointedly at John.

“How the hell do I know?” John snapped angrily, “I’ve never dealt with anything like this before!”

“I could take him away,” Sam suggested, seizing an opportunity; “find somewhere quiet where he can heal. He can’t go back to hunting like he is.”

“But you know you’re welcome here,” Bobby said; “I ain’t exactly social so he can have as much quiet as he needs, and he can work out some of his anger on the cars.”

“That makes sense, Sam,” John agreed; “Dean’s in a bad way and I’d feel happier if he was here with you and Bobby; it’s a big responsibility for one man.”

Sam felt anger burn inside him – Dean is mine, my love, my life, my reason for living; he’s not just a fucking burden – but he tried to keep it hidden. “He’s not a responsibility, dad, he’s my brother and I wanna help him, whatever it takes,” he stated, as calmly as he could.

“Why?” John retorted; “why the sudden interest? You left Dean to go off to Stanford; you ain’t seen him in three years. Hell, you barely even looked for him. Why the change, Sammy? You feelin’ guilty for deserting him, for not lookin’ for him?”

“Fuck you!” Sam snarled; “at least I found him, which is more than you did!”

“Hold yer horses you two,” Bobby growled; “this butting heads ain’t gonna get us nowhere. Why don’t we just ask Dean what he wants to do, once he’s feelin’ better?”

“And when will that be?” John asked angrily; “tomorrow, next week, next year?”

Bobby glared at him. “I mean when he’s got over the shock of today’s mind-blowing revelations, you fuckin’ asshole,” he snarled at John.

“I think Bobby’s right,” Sam intervened, not wanting his dad and Bobby at loggerheads too; “we’ll let Dean decide. And right now I’m gonna go check on him.” And of course you know that Dean will want to do whatever you tell him to, don’t you? 

Sam was smiling in anticipation as he mounted the stairs two at a time. Soon he would have Dean all to himself once again. Knocking on the door of the room they shared, he wasn’t surprised to get no response from his brother. He opened the door cautiously and his heart turned to stone inside him when he saw his brother sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a piece of broken glass in his right hand. More pieces of broken glass were scattered over the floor, but what had made Sam’s heart twist was the huge ugly gash across Dean’s left wrist, dripping red blood onto his blue jeans and over the pale green bedspread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the characters of Sam and Dean or any others mentioned. I will not make any profit from this story.
> 
> Once again a huge thanks to my wonderful betas dizzojay and somersault_j for all their support to me and help with making this story better.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Bobby and John take care of Dean, and each other, following his suicide attempt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay with this chapter, which was due to technological problems and the Easter holidays! I’d like to express my sincere gratitude to my lovely betas dizzojay and somersault_j for their continued help and support.

“Dean, please stop!” Sam pleaded as he cautiously approached his brother. He knew the spell had been working on Dean but he wasn’t sure how effective it would be if Dean wasn’t looking at him. However, Dean had already stopped, hand still wrapped around the broken glass, dully watching his blood seep both from his hand and his wrist.

Dean hadn’t looked up at Sam and he didn’t respond when Sam knelt in front of him. Sam stroked the hand gripping the glass.

“Dean, let go of the glass, please,” Sam coaxed. The piece of glass dropped to the ground, revealing a bloody mess of cuts across Dean’s fingers. Grabbing a pillow, Sam quickly tugged the cover off and wrapped it tightly around Dean’s bleeding wrist. “Hold your arm up, Dean,” he instructed, trying to keep calm; Dean complied, still not looking at him.

“It’s gonna need stitches,” Sam observed; “I have to get Bobby. Dean, can you hear me?” Sam asked and Dean nodded in response. “Good, now you wait right here, don’t move, I’ll be back real quick, okay?” Dean nodded again.

Running out of the door, Sam yelled for Bobby and, almost immediately, heavy footsteps acknowledged that Bobby had heard his frantic call and was moving as fast as he could. Breathing heavily, his face was red as he neared the top of the stairs.

“What’s goin’ on?” he puffed.

“It’s Dean – he’s….” Sam couldn’t say the words, couldn’t admit that Dean would do such a thing, that Dean would ever consider leaving him. “Please, he needs help.”

Bobby followed Sam into the bedroom to find Dean sitting exactly as Sam had left him; his arm wrapped in the blood-soaked pillow cover.

“Crap!” Bobby cursed, “go get my medical kit, it’s in the study. Make it quick.”

Sam glanced at Dean and Bobby growled “now, Sam!”

Sam ran out of the room, down the stairs and through to Bobby’s cluttered study; he quickly spotted the bag and hefted it over his shoulder. Turning to run back, he collided with his dad.

“Sammy, what the hell?” John barked in surprise.

“It’s Dean!” Sam pushed past his dad and headed back upstairs, his dad following close behind.

Bobby was sitting next to Dean, one arm wrapped around Dean’s shoulders, his free hand holding the soaked pillow cover tightly. Dean was deathly pale and slumped against the older hunter.

“Fucking hell!” John exclaimed in shock, “Dean, oh God, son why’d you do this?”

“Sam, come an’ hold him up, let me sort the wound out,” Bobby instructed; Sam sat down on the other side of Dean and held him gently. “John, you sit this side, he’s pretty weak.”

Bobby moved to kneel before Dean and John took his place. Dean was already leaning against Sam, so John helped Bobby move Dean’s injured arm, holding it immobile while Bobby cleaned it. Dean whimpered and tried to pull away.

“Shush, Dean, it’s okay, just keep still,” Sam murmured soothingly; “it’s gonna hurt, but it’s gotta be done, okay?” Dean nodded and burrowed his head into Sam’s shoulder.

“Damn it, Dean, why would you do this?” John growled as he watched Bobby wiping away the blood from Dean’s wrist, revealing the ugly gash that was still bleeding.

“Now’s not the time,” Bobby hissed angrily; “just help me patch him up.”

Bobby worked quickly and efficiently, more than acquainted with stitching up wounds. Once Dean’s wrist was stitched up and bandaged, they laid him on the bed and Bobby turned his attention to Dean’s damaged hand. These wounds were more superficial, but a larger one across Dean’s palm needed a couple of stitches. As he worked, the only sounds in the room were Sam’s quiet words of comfort to Dean and John's footsteps as he paced the floor.

“Do you think he’s lost too much blood, Bobby?” John asked as Bobby was finishing bandaging up Dean’s hand. “Does he need a transfusion? You can’t do that here, and we can’t take him to a hospital.”

“He should be okay, John,” Bobby sighed wearily, “he’s lost a lot of blood but luckily Sam found him when he did. We just need to keep an eye on him, make sure he drinks plenty…” Bobby gazed down at Dean, who had finally looked away from Sam and was staring up at him; “Hey, ya big idjit, you tryin’ give me heart failure?” He chided Dean as he stroked his hair fondly.

Dean’s eyes filled with tears as he shook his head, “S-sorry…”

“Don’t apologize to me, boy, just get yourself some rest,” Bobby smiled at him and patted his cheek.

“I’ll stay with Dean while he sleeps,” John decreed. Sam wanted to protest, but he could see how upset his dad was and that he needed some time alone with Dean. You’ll have him back all to yourself soon, you can be a little generous with his time now.

“Okay, he’s gonna be sleepy for a while,” Bobby informed them, “I’ll send Sam up with some food in a coupla hours, and he can relieve you then.”

“Hey, Dean, look at me,” Sam smiled down at Dean, “you need to rest now; dad will stay with you, I’ll be back soon, okay?”

Dean nodded, his eyes already heavy with exhaustion, “Okay, Sammy,” he agreed.

Sam left his dad sitting in a chair next to Dean’s bed, watching his son drift off to sleep as if he was willing Dean to get better, to be whole again. 

 

“You alright?” Bobby asked once he had put his medical kit away. Sam had made coffee for them and they sat at Bobby’s table. Sam felt sick, like he had failed Dean.

“Not really,” Sam smiled wryly, “think I’m in some kinda shock.”

“I’m not surprised, son,” Bobby replied.

“Why would he do that, Bobby?” Sam asked earnestly, “I know what he’s been through, but we’re here for him; I know he can get through it, why would he want to leave us?”

“It’s my fault, me and my big mouth,” Bobby muttered, adding a large shot of whisky to his black coffee. Sam noticed the older man’s hands shaking.

“It’s not your fault,” Sam replied, wanting to offer Bobby some comfort; “as dad said, he had to find out some time.”

“But we could’ve prepared him, sat him down and talked to him,” Bobby sighed, “he shouldn’t have found out like that. Poor kid’s been through enough.”

“Well, that would’ve been better,” Sam agreed, “but it’s out in the open now and we all have to deal with it, as best we can.”

“True, thanks for the pep talk, kid.” Bobby sipped his whisky-laced coffee and indicated at the bottle to Sam, “help yourself, or grab anything else you want. I gotta do some research for Caleb.”

“Thanks, Bobby.” Sam gave Bobby a grim smile and watched him shuffle off to his study; then he unpacked the groceries that he and Dean had brought back from the store what seemed like hours ago. He cleaned up the mess of broken eggs in the hall and then went to sit out on the porch, helping himself to a cold beer on the way.

Sam wanted to take Dean away right now, to find some quiet cabin in the middle of nowhere where Dean would feel safe and Sam could look after him. Sam knew he was being selfish - he wanted Dean with him primarily so that he could make love to him - but he was also convinced that he was helping Dean by using the spell. He dreaded to think what would happen if Dean had to face reality without his help. Dean would either have pushed all the hurt deep down inside himself, plastered on his usual mask of bravado, gone back to hunting and got himself killed; or he would be so broken he would end up back in an institution, the fate of so many freed Brothel Boys. Sam knew he would lose Dean either way and that no matter what happened, he was not losing Dean again. ‘Or his pretty lips, his talented tongue, his sweet hole…’

Sam sat for a while thinking about Dean, then went back upstairs to check on him. As he expected, Dean was sleeping soundly and John was still sitting staring at him. He glanced round as Sam entered the room.

“How’s he doing?” Sam whispered.

“He’s just sleeping, seems okay,” John replied.

“I’m just getting my laptop; can I get you anything?” Sam asked.

“No, I’m good,” John sighed, “but thanks.”

Leaving them alone, Sam took the laptop down to the kitchen. It wasn’t his laptop; it was the Judge’s laptop and Sam didn’t know why he felt the overwhelming need to look at it again. He clicked on a file labeled ‘William – bondage’, glancing up guiltily to ensure no one was around. He was equally appalled and aroused by the sight of Dean’s hands being bound behind his back by a client, then Dean being pushed down onto the bed, his knees on the floor, as the nameless guy fucked him hard and fast. Dean had no leverage, his body was thrust along the mattress repeatedly, his face was turned to the side and he was gasping for breath, crying with pain.

When the guy had finished, he pulled Dean roughly up onto his feet, ordering him to kneel. Dean sank down ungracefully, looking dazed, but Sam could see how hard his brother was and felt his own dick twitch in interest. “You fucking little slut, look at you! You like this don’t you? You like being treated like a cheap fucking whore!” the man growled as he stroked his own limp dick. Dean swayed and blinked up at the man. “What do you want, William?” the man demanded

“Please, please sir,” Dean replied automatically.

“Fucking slut!” the man’s dick was half-hard again and he grabbed Dean’s hair. Dean knew what was required of him and opened his mouth, ready to lick the man but the bastard thrust inside Dean quickly, making Dean choke and gag. The brutal abuse went on far too long; the man held Dean upright as he face-fucked him repeatedly, and by the time the man released him, Dean slumped to the floor, unconscious. The familiar tinny voice informed the client that he would have to pay a $100.00 fine for incapacitating the Boy. The man laughed and smiled at the camera. “He’s worth every penny – and he’s still fucking hard!”

It was true; Dean’s dick was still hard and leaking pre-come. Sam was amazed – he was sure the rough treatment and lack of oxygen should have dampened Dean’s arousal. Then Sam remembered that the cocktail of drugs contained something like Viagra to keep Dean’s dick hard. ‘Well, I’m sure if you tell him he really likes it rough he’ll believe you and keep hard for you. What fun you’ll have.’

Sam slammed the laptop shut, disgusted with his own reaction to his brother’s distress. He didn’t want to hurt Dean, not ever; he only wanted to love him. And right now he needed to be with him.

Bobby was studying an old book intently when Sam entered the study, but he looked up as soon as he heard Sam’s quiet footsteps, his hunter instincts as sharp as ever.

“Hey, Bobby,” Sam announced, “I was thinking of cooking something.”

“Sure, knock yerself out,” Bobby replied, stretching his arms above his head and yawning.

“Spaghetti and meatballs okay?” Sam asked; “It’s quick and even I can’t mess it up.”

“Sounds just great,” Bobby chuckled, “you never did like cooking much.”

“Dean always did it, or we ate take-outs or at diners.” Sam shrugged ruefully; “But I did get a bit of practice at Stanford.”

“Bet that seems like a different world now, kid,” Bobby declared, eyeing Sam knowingly.

“Yeah, sure does,” Sam admitted. Bobby, as usual, was right – Sam barely recognized the boy he had been at Stanford, he had been so keen to lead a normal life, so eager to leave hunting behind, so selfish to leave Dean alone. “Anyways, I’ll give you a yell once it’s done.”

 

Once the pasta, sauce and meatballs were done, Sam dished up four plates, placing two on the kitchen table. He found a tray with a very flowery pattern that must have belonged to Bobby’s wife, and put the remaining plates on it, plus a jug of water. On the way up to Dean, he told Bobby the food was ready.

Sam pushed the bedroom door fully open with his foot, quietly calling out, “Dinner’s ready,” as he did so. He was surprised to see that Dean was awake, talking quietly to John. Sam heard his dad saying “none of it’s your fault, son,” and he felt a wave of gratitude to his dad at that moment.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” Sam said, as both men looked over at him. Dean’s eyes were wet with tears and red-rimmed, but he smiled at Sam.

“It’s fine, we’re all good here,” John replied, as he stood up. “I’m starving and I’m sure your brother must be too.” He patted Dean’s shoulder affectionately; “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Sure,” Dean nodded, and Sam felt like it was a promise. “Thanks dad,” Dean added as John gave them both a grin before leaving the room.

“You hungry?” Sam asked, wanting to say so much more.

“A little, I guess,” Dean sat up fully and took the plate Sam offered him; “you cooked this?” he asked, looking at the plate in mock-apprehension.

“Yeah, don’t worry it’s about the only thing I can cook that’s edible!” Sam grinned.

“Thanks, Sammy, it looks great,” Dean stuck a fork in a meat ball and ate it, grinning back, “not bad!”

Sam sat on the chair next to the bed and started to eat his own meal, but he wasn’t hungry and didn’t seem to be able to swallow past the huge lump in his throat. He toyed with his food, not wanting Dean to notice that he wasn’t eating, but of course his big brother did.

“It’s more than edible, Sammy, c’mon get stuck in,” Dean coaxed.

“Sorry, not that hungry,” Sam replied, but he forced himself to eat a forkful of spaghetti.

Dean ate a little more, although he had to chase his food around his plate as he was eating one-handed, then put his own fork down with a frown. “I’m sorry,” he said to the plate.

“That’s okay, you ate more than me,” Sam replied, although he knew Dean wasn’t apologizing for not finishing his meal. Sam reached over and took the plate away from Dean, placing it together with his on the tray on the floor. “D’you want a drink?”

“Please,” Dean nodded his eyes still downcast. Sam poured him a glass of water and as he handed it to him he saw Dean’s bandaged hand and wrist, and shuddered. He could still clearly see the blood dripping from Dean’s self-inflicted wounds.

“Fuck it, Dean, how could you do this to me?” Sam growled, not sure if he wanted to shake his brother or hug him at that moment. “I love you,” Sam gasped; “I need you.” He sank to his knees, dropping the glass on the floor, uncaring as the water seeped into the carpet and into the knees of his jeans. He took Dean’s bandaged hand gently, adding, “Please don’t leave me!”

“Oh fuck, Sammy, don’t - don’t, please get up!” Dean pleaded. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“You have to promise me you won’t ever do that again; promise me you won’t leave me,” Sam begged, crying now, momentarily forgetting about the spell in his anguish.

“Sammy, come here,” Dean opened his arms and Sam climbed up onto the bed, desperately gathering his brother into a hug. “I promise I’ll never leave you; I’m so sorry for what I did, I wasn’t thinking straight. Please don’t cry, don’t cry, Sammy,” Dean whispered as he held Sam in his arms.

It was so much like all the times Dean had been there for him in the past - loving him, comforting him, making everything better – that it made Sam cry more, as he knew how much his brother loved him, and how bad things were for Dean to have even contemplated suicide. They clung together for a long time, not speaking, until Dean started to shiver.

“Crap,” Sam cursed, pulling away from Dean and wiping his own face with his hands, “you’re freezing and you’re supposed to be resting.”

“M’okay, Sammy,” Dean lied valiantly through chattering teeth, “I need the bathroom anyhow,”

Sam coaxed Dean back into bed once he’d used the bathroom. Dean was exhausted now and yawned as he looked up at Sam. “Sammy, sleep next to me? Feel safer with you near me.”

“Sure,” Sam smiled at his sleepy brother, “I’ll just let dad and Bobby know we’re settling down for the night, I won’t be long.”

Sam took the tray down to the kitchen, finding his dad and Bobby still sitting at the table, sharing the bottle of Johnnie Walker that Dean had insisted they bought for Bobby.

“Sammy, how’s he doin’?” John asked as soon as he saw him.

“Okay, he ate some food, we talked,” Sam replied, hoping neither of the older men spotted his red eyes; “he’s ready to sleep again now and I’m going to stay up there with him.”

“Good idea, you look worn to a frazzle, boy,” Bobby said, adding, “thanks for the food, it was real good.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Sam chuckled, “I told you, even I couldn’t mess that up!”

“I’m surprised, you have hidden talents, son,” John smiled, then grew serious, “you come get me if anything happens, if you need me, you hear?”

“Sure, but I think he’ll be okay, dad,” Sam reassured his father as best as he could, then left them to their whisky to get back to Dean.

Dean was sitting up again, looking anxious, but he relaxed when he saw Sam. “Thanks, for-for coming back, I don’t wanna be alone, not-not right now,” Dean muttered, looking ashamed.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” Sam told him sincerely. “Now you lay down, I’m getting undressed right here. You don’t need to be afraid and you don’t need to feel bad for needing help, Dean.”

Sighing wearily, Dean lay down and waited for Sam to join him. Sam climbed into the bed and pulled Dean onto his chest, wrapping his arms around him taking care to avoid his injuries.

“I love you so much, Dean,” Sam whispered.

“Love you too, ya big girl,” Dean grumbled sleepily, making Sam smile.

Sam lay with Dean sleeping in his arms for a long time, so relieved that Dean was okay and so happy just to be holding him again. ‘And you’ll be so much happier once you’re fucking him again…’

 

Dean came downstairs for breakfast the following morning, but he still looked very tired. He refused to go back up to bed insisting he was ‘fine’, but fell asleep on the sofa, while John did some maintenance work on his truck and Sam helped Bobby with his research for Caleb.

Around lunchtime the heavens opened and John stomped in from the yard, grumbling about the freakin’ weather and headed to the bathroom. As John cleaned himself up, Bobby cooked chicken noodle soup and Sam sliced up some bread to go with it.

Dean ambled into the kitchen, his hair all messed up and sniffed appreciatively, “somethin’ smells good,” he observed, as his stomach rumbled on cue.

“Bet you never need an alarm clock, your stomach always wakes you,” Bobby chuckled.

“How’re you feeling?” Sam asked, noting that Dean looked less pale than he had earlier.

“Okay,” Dean sighed as he sat down and grabbed a piece of bread; “I guess I feel kinda stupid.”

“Stupid?” Sam repeated, as he helped Bobby put the bowls of soup on the table.

“For being so freakin’ melodramatic,” Dean admitted, “and for worrying you all.”

“We all need to draw a line under this,” John said from the doorway. Sam hadn’t heard him join them, but John had been there long enough to hear Dean’s admission. “Dean, you were in shock yesterday and you reacted out of character. You’re strong and you’re a survivor; so no more apologizing or feeling bad about it, okay? What’s done is done. Now, let’s eat.” He joined them at the table and Sam could tell Dean really wanted to believe what his dad had said.

“Thanks, dad, you’re right,” Dean responded with a forced grin.

They ate in silence for a while; Sam hadn’t realized how hungry he was, but he had eaten very little yesterday and had only eaten a bowl of cereal at breakfast.

“I need to know what I’ve missed,” Dean announced suddenly, looking around the table. “I mean, in the last three years. What you’ve all been doing, what’s happening in the world. What’s happening in the supernatural world too.”

“Sure, son,” John agreed, looking with pride at Dean, “it’s a tall order, but we’ll try to fill in all the relevant news.”

They spoke for a while about general stuff, what was going on in the ‘normal’ world, and then turned to discussing news of other hunters of their acquaintance.

“What about you, dad,” Dean asked as they finished discussing the latest news from Pastor Jim, “are you any closer to getting the thing that killed mom?”

“Well, I’m close now,” John replied, “real close; in fact I know it’s a demon; and I know how to kill it.”

Both Bobby and Dean looked shocked at this news, and Sam tried to mimic their expression.

“You know how to kill it?” Bobby asked; “why didn’t you say something before? Hell, John, this is major news!”

“I only found out myself recently,” John explained, “and it’s a weapon, the only one of its kind, the only thing that can kill a demon.”

“What kind of weapon? Do you have it?” Sam asked, intrigued.

“I’m not telling you,” John said firmly, “I don’t want any of you more involved in this than you need to be.”

“But we are involved, dad, me and Dean,” Sam reminded him, “she was our mother, and if we can help…”

“Sorry, son,” John replied, looking at him then at Dean, “there’s no way I’d let either of you hunt this thing with me.”

Sam was about to argue his point further, torn between his desire to take Dean away and keep him safe and loved, and the feeling that he should help his dad. However, before he could say any more, John spoke again.

“I lost both you boys for years, and I’ve just got you back,” John began, “I can’t lose you again, I can’t put you at risk. Sammy, I know we butt heads, but I need you to know I was proud of you getting into Stanford and I should’ve kept in touch. I’m a stubborn bastard, always have been.”

“So am I, dad,” Sam responded, surprised again by his dad’s honesty, “I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“Too true,” Bobby grumbled and they both laughed. Dean didn’t join in, and when Sam looked across at him, Dean was staring into space.

“What do you think Dean?” Sam coaxed, touching Dean’s elbow gently. Dean blinked and looked startled. “Me and dad, d’you think we’re stubborn?”

“You’re both just about as stubborn as mules,” he replied, flashing them both a smile that didn’t meet his eyes.

“You okay, son?” John asked. “You seem a little out of it.”

“I’m tired,” Dean stood up, “I’m gonna go lay down.”

“D’you want me to come with you?” Sam offered.

“Nah, I’m good,” Dean muttered.

“What the hell was that about?” John grumbled once Dean had left the room.

“Perhaps it was too overwhelming for him, hearing about the demon,” Sam replied, fighting the urge to follow Dean.

“But he wanted to know what we’d all been doing,” John protested, “holy shit this is like walking a fucking tightrope!”

“What d’you expect?” Bobby growled; “the kid slit his wrist a day ago and you expect him to bounce back? Yeah, I know he’s strong, he’s a survivor, but this ain’t gonna be a quick fix!”

“I know, I know, it’s just…” John gave a frustrated sigh, “it’s so fucking hard, seeing him like this, not being able to help him.” He turned his attention to Sam, “Sammy, you should go and find him, make sure he’s okay.”

Sam didn’t need to be told twice; he nodded and headed upstairs to look for Dean.

Glancing into the bedroom, Sam saw it was empty and started to panic. He looked in the bathroom and in Bobby’s own room, although he couldn’t imagine why Dean would go in there. Quickly making his way downstairs, he made a point of being as quiet as possible so as not to worry Bobby and John for no reason, but against all his hopes, Dean wasn’t in the study either. It made no sense; he hadn’t heard Dean go outside and it was still raining heavily. Despite that, he still eased the front door open and scanned the immediate vicinity; there was no sign of Dean on the porch or in the yard.

“Fuck, fuck it!” Sam muttered, going back inside and mounting the stairs again. He thought of one more place to check, and this time when he went into the bedroom, he walked straight past the beds and found Dean curled up in a ball on the floor in the corner, hidden from view.

“Hey, Dean, it’s me,” Sam said quietly, as he crouched down beside his brother. “What’s wrong?”

Dean didn’t look at him, but he whispered, “I-I think I’m possessed,”

“Why would you think that?” Sam asked, surprised at what Dean had said.

“The demon, I’ve seen him, he-he has yellow eyes,” Dean trembled at the memory.

Shit, Sam didn’t think Dean would remember his encounter with the demon. He had to know what else he remembered. “When did you see him?” He asked gently.

“I don’t know!” Dean wailed, “I can’t fucking remember.” He sat up, leaning against the wall, “but it fits Sammy; there’s the whole chunks of time I can’t remember. Then, me trying to - to take the coward’s way out; that’s not me, it’s not who I was. I don’t know who the hell I am anymore.”

“Hey, hey, look at me;” Sam gripped Dean’s shoulders, “you’re not possessed. Apart from anything else, Bobby did all the usual tests on you when we first got here. You were drugged, Dean, that’s why you can’t remember.”

“I know, you keep telling me all that,” Dean muttered, ”but I hate this, Sammy; I hate just getting fragments of my past, not being able to piece it together,”

“Dean, it doesn’t matter. You just need to know that you feel safe now and you’re happy to be back.” Sam told him, adding, “How do you feel now?”

“I feel safe now, and I’m just happy to be back,” Dean repeated, but Sam could tell his brother really believed the words and that he wasn’t just repeating them mindlessly, as Dean smiled widely at him, his body visibly relaxing. “Thanks Sammy, I dunno what I’d do without you.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean continues to grow stronger and enjoys working on the old cars at Bobby's yard. Sam has a surprise visit from the yellow-eyed demon, which leads to him having a migraine attack. John gets a new lead on the weapon he's been searching for and decides to leave. Sam uses the opportunity to get Dean away from Bobby's, to a remote cabin.

Dean spent the next morning helping Bobby to strip working parts from some of the wrecked cars that had ended up in Singer’s Salvage Yard. It was a warm sunny day and Sam was sitting on the porch, just watching his brother working for a while.

Dean was wearing a plain black t-shirt and old faded jeans; he had grease smudges on his arms and face, which somehow made him look even more beautiful. Sam noticed that Dean was too thin for his build, courtesy of his three years in The Brothel, but he was still fairly muscular and Sam enjoyed taking in every inch of Dean’s body.

Dean looked up from the engine he was stripping and saw Sam watching him. He grinned as he wiped the sweat from his forehead, leaving another trail of grease, and called over “make yourself useful and get us some beers, Sammy!”

“What did your last slave die of?” Sam retorted, but he got up anyway and went back inside to get four cold beers from Bobby’s kitchen.  
When he returned, Dean was leaning against the battered old car he had been stripping and he took the beer from Sam with a cheeky grin. Sam handed beers over to his dad, who was also helping out, and Bobby; then he joined Dean leaning against the car, enjoying the warm sunshine and the cold beer.

“How are you doing?” he asked Dean.

“Okay, I guess,” Dean shrugged, “I don’t really know. I mean, one minute I’m okay, and then I feel like I’m floating or drowning; I can’t really explain it.”

“You were on pretty strong drugs for years, Dean.” Sam replied; “they’re bound to have an effect,”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean downed the rest of his beer and stood up, “I’m doing okay right now, so I’m gonna get back to work. What’re you doing?”

“Bobby’s making the most of having me around,” Sam responded, “he’s got me doing some research for him – well, for Caleb,”

“I think he’s enjoying having some company,” Dean added, “though he’d never admit it!”

‘He shouldn't get too used to it though,’ Sam mused, ‘I need you all to myself and soon.‘

Leaving Dean, Sam returned to his laptop. He had always enjoyed the challenge of conducting research, but this time he couldn’t settle back down to it; he felt restless and needed to do something physical. Eventually, he grabbed his car keys and told Dean he was going into town to the library, but he just wanted some time alone on the open road.

Sam drove for several miles, thinking about Dean and all he wanted to do with him and for him. He wanted them to be together, not just as brothers, but as a couple. He wanted to find a little house somewhere, perhaps back in California so he could resume his studies. Dean could train to be a mechanic and they could have a good life together. But he knew deep inside that Dean would never agree to this plan, not unless Sam kept him under his spell, and he didn’t think he could do that to his brother long-term. Sam knew that Dean’s feeling of drowning and floating were partially due to the influence of the spell – it was masking Dean’s true feelings and turning him into Sam’s own little Stepford bitch.

With a weary sigh, Sam began to take more notice of his surroundings. He had left Sioux Falls and was in open countryside now. He was surprised when he glanced at his watch to find he had been driving for over an hour and decided to find a gas station to fill up, use the rest room and grab a snack.

He was washing his hands in the less than gleaming rest room sink when he felt a presence behind him. He spun around, wet hands pulling out his gun.

“Howdy Sammy!” the yellow-eyed demon grinned at him; “you’ve really been a hard one to find lately. That old drunk sure knows how to ward his property.”

“What the fuck do you want?” Sam growled, still gripping the gun although he knew it was useless against the demon.

“Just checking up you, sport, you know you’re my favorite,” the demon smirked.

“What exactly do you want from me?” Sam asked wearily.

“I told you before, Sammy; I have big plans for you. I need you sharp and I need you feeding that darkness inside you,” he frowned as he regarded Sam, “which you don’t seem to be doing. Tsk, tsk, Sammy, this won’t do,” the demon added, “if you’re not gonna keep up the revenge killings, you need to be regularly fucking your brother,”

“Shut your mouth, you sick fuck,” Sam retorted, “I’m not doing anything for you!”

“Oh but you are, Sammy,” the demon smirked at him, “and once you’re away from Bobby Singer’s place I’m sure you’ll be resuming your activities.”

“If you couldn’t find me, how did you know I was at Bobby’s?” Sam asked, afraid that Bobby’s protection sigils and wards had failed.

“I got eyes out looking for you and when they saw you here, it didn’t take a genius to guess where you’d been, did it?”

“Just tell me what you want me for,” Sam yelled; “why are you tracking me, why do you want me?”

“It will all be revealed in time, sport,” the demon shot him a final smirk before vanishing.

“Holy fuck,” Sam groaned as he tucked his gun away and wiped his still damp hands over his face.

He drove back to Bobby’s with a feeling of dread – what if the demon had found a way to get past Bobby’s wall of protection and had hurt Bobby, John or even Dean? The thought of Bobby or his dad being harmed was awful, but the thought of losing Dean made him feel physically sick.

As soon as he pulled up at Bobby’s place, he knew it was all okay, just the same as when he had left. Rumsfeld was barking at him, Dean was still working on yet another old wreck with Bobby and John was sat on the porch, reading one of Bobby’s big old books.

Giving a sigh of relief, Sam climbed out of the car and smiled as Dean waved at him.

“You okay Sammy?” Dean inquired as Sam approached him; “You look real pale. I swear you spend too much time with your head stuck in books and not enough time in the sunshine.”

“I’m okay, just got a bit of a headache,” Sam replied and it wasn’t a complete lie, as he did have a pounding head. “I’m gonna go lie down for a while,”

“Can I get you anything?” Dean asked in concern.

“Nah, I’ll just take some painkillers and rest up,” Sam informed him.

“You alright, son?” John asked as Sam climbed the porch steps.

“Yeah, I just have a headache,” Sam responded, knowing he must look pretty rough for both Dean and his dad to comment on it; “I’ll be okay once I’ve had some painkillers.”

“Okay,” John eyed him suspiciously, “you always were prone to headaches; too much reading.”

“That’s what Dean said!” Sam chuckled, “I’m gonna go lie down.” Just then Sam noticed the page that John had been reading, entitled “Classification of Demons”. With that, he suddenly felt dizzy, and stumbled as his vision began to swim. John was up on his feet instantly and caught Sam before he fell.

“Fuck, Sammy, I think it’s more than a headache!” John muttered as he helped Sam up the stairs. Sam realized that Dean was there too, on his other side, and they were both speaking to him but he couldn’t make out the words. His head felt like it was about to split open and he couldn’t see anything apart from dark spots swirling against blinding light. Somehow John and Dean managed to get him upstairs and sat him on the bed, handing him pills which he took without argument, and he lay down just before he blacked out.

 

“He’s always had bad headaches, but this is the worst I've seen,” John was saying when Sam came round. He wanted to laugh – John hadn’t seen him for three years, so how would he know? He had suffered a few very painful and debilitating migraine attacks while at Stanford, so Sam knew what this was.

“He’s been under a lot of stress,” Bobby replied to John, as Sam opened his eyes slightly, “and he’s back with us!” Bobby added with a smile.

“Migraine,” Sam whispered, his head still pounding, “I get migraines.”

“Holy crap, that’s not good,” Bobby frowned at him; “you need something stronger than Advil? I can run into town…”

“Nah, it’s okay, it’s passing now,” Sam reassured; “I just need to rest.”

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Bobby replied, “we’ll leave you to some peace and quiet,”

“How long was I out?” Sam asked, before adding a more pressing question, “where’s Dean?”

“You've been asleep about four hours,” John explained, “Dean’s been with you the whole time, we just came up to make him go downstairs and eat something. I was gonna stay with you.”

“Fuck…four hours? God, I’m sorry,” Sam groaned, feeling a little foolish, “you don’t need me swooning like some Victorian lady.”

“A Victorian lady wouldn’t have been so damned heavy to haul up the stairs!” John smiled at him, adding, “You don’t need to apologize, son; you rest up now; Dean will no doubt be running up to see you as soon as he can,”

Left alone to his thoughts, Sam wondered if he should tell his dad about the yellow-eyed demon’s latest visit. Part of him really wanted to, but another part of him was scared that the demon was too powerful for his dad to take on. If his dad succeeded in finding a way to kill a demon, then perhaps he could help by summoning and it. If the demon really was the one who had killed his mother, then Sam wanted to be there when the bastard died. ‘But if the demon dies, so will your hold over Dean.’

Sam shook his head to try to get his thoughts straight and pain shot through it, making him feel nauseous. This was such a bad time to get a freaking migraine; not that there was ever a good time to get one. He closed his eyes and wanted nothing more than to drift off into a dreamless sleep.

He heard footsteps, then the sound of Dean whispering “Sammy?” and he opened his eyes a little. “You look like shit,” his brother remarked bluntly; completely unnecessarily as he felt like shit too.

“Thanks,” Sam huffed in mock-annoyance.

“You’re welcome,” Dean grinned, “I brought you up some more painkillers. Dad said it’s a migraine, and you need to rest, so I’ll leave…”

“No, you can stay, ‘til I fall asleep,” Sam pleaded, needing to see Dean’s green eyes looking down at him with concern, needing to know how much his brother cared for him, needing not to be alone right now.

“Okay,” Dean helped him to sit up and handed him the pills and a glass of water before sitting back on to the chair beside the bed, once Sam was settled back down.

“Come and lay with me?” Sam asked, knowing Dean couldn’t refuse him.

“Sure,” Dean agreed as he got up and walked around the bed. He climbed in and pulled Sam into his arms and Sam relaxed with his head rested on Dean’s chest, breathing in the scent of his brother – engine grease, sweat and cheap soap. Sam fell asleep feeling safe, warm and loved.

 

When Sam awoke again it was morning and Dean was snoring softly, sprawled over the bed next to him. At some point Dean must have got up as he was now wearing just his t-shirt and boxers. Sam kissed him gently on the forehead and tiptoed out of the bedroom to shower and get dressed. He was feeling much better and was hungry, having missed both lunch and dinner yesterday.

Before he went downstairs, he checked in on Dean and saw he was still sleeping peacefully. Both his dad and Bobby already were up and eating breakfast when he entered the kitchen.

“Mornin’ Sammy, you’re looking better,” his dad greeted him.

“What can I getcha?” Bobby asked, already rising from the table.

“It’s okay, I’ll grab some toast,” Sam replied, his stomach churning at the smell of fresh bacon.

“Sit yerself, down, I was makin’ some more anyway.” Bobby decreed, so Sam sat down, knowing better than to argue with the older hunter.

“Coffee?” John asked as he poured out a mug for Sam.

“Yeah, thanks,” Sam smiled sheepishly, “probably shouldn't after the migraine but it smells too good to resist,”

“You had attacks like that before?” his dad asked in concern.

“Yeah, only a few times, back at Stanford.” Sam replied, “I even had my eyes tested, but they’re fine.”

“Anything trigger them?” John inquired.

‘Like visits from demons, committing incest with your brother…’ Sam’s mind added but he managed to answer his dad, saying “the usual things – stress, tiredness, that kinda stuff.”

“I guess it’s been a stressful time,” John said thoughtfully. “Is your brother still asleep?”

“Yeah, he was snoring his head off last time I checked!” Sam chuckled.

Just then John’s cell phone buzzed and he left the room to answer the call.

While John was outside, Bobby handed Sam a plate of buttered toast and Sam started to eat it, while trying to hear what his dad was saying. He guessed John must have gone through to the study as he couldn’t hear much at all.

“Sure you don’t want any bacon? Or egg?” Bobby asked.

“Toast is just fine, thanks,” Sam answered.

John came back into the kitchen looking excited and anxious.

“I got a new lead on the weapon to kill the demon,” he announced, “best one so far.”

“That’s great, dad,” Sam responded; “what is it? And where?”

“I’m sorry, son, I’m not telling any of you yet.” John replied with a sigh, “It’s too dangerous, and I’m not putting you at risk,”

“We could help…” Sam started to protest but he knew by the stubborn expression on his dad’s face there was no point.

“We've been through this already, Sammy,” John reproached him; “just trust me on this.”

John took a swig of coffee then started to pace the kitchen floor, his cell phone in his hand like he was willing it to ring again.

“So you’ll be leaving?” Bobby asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, but not ‘til I know both my boys are okay,” John said, with a glance at Sam.

Sam didn’t know what to say. He was comforted by his dad wanting to stay and it had been great to spend time with him, but he also wanted him to go, so that he could have Dean to himself.

As Sam reflected, John walked out of the kitchen and back again, looking at the kitchen clock, and then resuming his circuit again.

“Just go, John,” Bobby growled wearily, on John’s fifth circuit “you’re no help to Sam, Dean or my patience, pacing around here like a god-damned caged tiger!”

John glared at Bobby, looking like he was going to protest, then his shoulders drooped. He looked over at Sam. “I’m sorry, Sammy, I guess I've never been good at waiting around or keeping still,”

“It’s okay, I understand,” Sam replied and he wasn’t sure who looked most surprised, his dad or Bobby. “You should go; Dean will be okay with me, and Bobby.” Sam added the older hunter’s name; although he knew he would be leaving Bobby’s home with Dean as soon as he could.

“Are you sure?” John looked at Sam and then at Bobby.

“You know they can stay here as long as they need to,” Bobby replied gruffly.

“Thanks Bobby,” John shook his friend’s hand, “for everything.”

“Ya don’t need to thank me, just try an’ stay alive,” Bobby muttered, “I don’t wanna be responsible for these two idjits for the rest of my days,”  
Bobby ambled off, leaving Sam and John alone in the kitchen, and Sam couldn’t help but return the grin John gave him.

“He loves you two boys really!” John chuckled.

“I know he does, but hell will freeze over before he admits it!” Sam smiled, sitting at the table and pouring himself another coffee, “D’you want one?”

“Nah, I’m good,” John declined the offer but still sat down opposite Sam; “but I need to ask you something,”

Sam’s stomach flipped as he wondered what on earth his dad would say. “Sure,” he managed to say fairly casually.

“What’s the deal with you and Dean?” John asked, “I get that you saved him so he feels safe around you, but it’s like…” John shrugged, “…like he’s under some spell or something,”

“You think I’m a witch?” Sam laughed wryly, hoping it seemed genuine.

“I didn’t mean that,” John retorted wearily, “I just wondered if there was anything supernatural going on at that place; if Dean was bewitched as well as drugged.”

‘Crap, he’s so close to the truth, damn him!’ Sam thought as he tried to think of a response.

“I don’t know, I guess it’s possible,” he shrugged, hoping his poker face was working.

“I’m gonna speak to Missouri, a medium friend of mine, see if she can help,” John sighed, “I hate seeing him like this; and I know I should’ve dropped everything to find him; but I can’t turn back time. Fuck it, I wish that I could.”

Sam was surprised again by his dad’s candor, and he had never known him to admit to being wrong about anything.

“You and me both, dad,” Sam responded sincerely, “we let him down,”

“Best thing we can do now is carry on, do our jobs.” John stood up as he spoke; “I’m gonna find that demonic son-of-a-bitch and kill it, and you’re gonna stay here and help your brother. Whatever the reason, he responds to you better than anyone else,”

“Sure dad, I’ll look after him,” Sam stood up too, unsure whether to shake his dad’s hand or hug him. John solved the problem by stepping forward and hauling Sam into a bear hug. ‘If only your daddy knew exactly how you’ll look after Dean, bet he wouldn’t be hugging you then…’

John ended the hug by slapping Sam heartily on the back and pushing them apart; “you look after yourself, Sammy, and take care of your brother,”

Sam smiled, “funny, you used to say that all the time to Dean,”

“Yeah, and Dean did a great job looking out for you,” John responded, a slight smile lighting up his grim face; “so I know I can trust you to do right by him,” he added.

“You know I will, dad,” Sam replied, hoping his voice sounded normal, as his brain was screaming he knows; he knows you’re up to something! 

 

John left later that morning once he had said goodbye to Dean. Dean had been upset about John leaving them, until Sam took his hand and told him everything was going to be okay. Sam was proud to be able to help his brother like this and to make him feel better. He chose to ignore the little voice that told him again how Dean was turning into his Stepford bitch.

The next few days passed without incident. Dean was more than happy to help Bobby with the salvaged vehicles and Sam was almost content to help Bobby with research, go for runs and see his brother’s freckles deepening with the sunshine. Dean was happier than he had been since he had been rescued, and Sam was pleased but he needed more. He needed Dean to be his; he didn’t want to share him with Bobby.

Dean had a horrific nightmare on the fourth night after their dad left. He was screaming and thrashing around the bed; his screams brought Bobby into their room and the older man looked shocked at the sight of Dean relieving his past experiences in his sleep.

It was the opportunity Sam needed. He planted the seed in Dean’s mind that he needed to get away somewhere quiet, just with Sam, so that when he broached the subject with Bobby later that day, Dean was in agreement.

After lunch, Dean had fallen asleep on Bobby’s comfy old sofa and Sam watched the old hunter cover Dean with a blanket. Bobby looked a little embarrassed that Sam had witnessed his moment of tenderness, but he joined Sam in looking at Dean as he slept.

“So he’s still getting the nightmares. I had no idea how bad they were,” Bobby whispered.

“I think he’ll have them for a while, after all he’s been through,” Sam sighed.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Bobby agreed, “I wish we could do more for him,”

“I think we should go away for a while, somewhere quiet,” Sam suggested, “just me and Dean.”

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, Sam,” Bobby responded, “Dean’s always liked working with cars. It gives him somethin’ useful to do and I’d feel happier if I could keep an eye on you both,”

“We won’t go far, and I’ll check in regularly,” Sam proposed, “I really think Dean needs some fresh air, open space and time to heal,” Bobby still looked uncertain so he added, “why don’t we see what Dean thinks?”

Dean agreed with Sam, of course, telling Bobby that he needed to get away, to be somewhere quiet, just him and Sammy. Despite his misgivings, Bobby called in a favor from a friend who kept a lakeside cabin about fifty miles away. 

They were soon on the road, supplied with directions to the cabin, and gruff instructions to “keep in touch, y’hear?”

 

“Wake up, Dean, we’re here,” Sam announced, nudging Dean’s knee as he pulled up at the front of the cabin. It was deep in the forest by a secluded, peaceful lake, and the weather was good, so it was probably warm enough to go for a swim. Sam climbed out of the car, stretching his long limbs and grinned at the prospect of skinny-dipping with Dean.

Dean emerged from the car yawning and rubbing his eyes. He smiled at Sam when he saw the cabin and the lake.

“This looks great, Sammy,” he said, looking around appreciatively.

“I’m pleased you like it,” Sam replied, walking around the car and pulling Dean into his arms.

“Sammy…” Dean started to protest.

“It’s okay Dean, you’re mine, remember? I love you,” Sam reminded him, adding, “This is gonna be fun - we can fish in the lake, perhaps go for a swim.”

Dean relaxed into Sam’s embrace, his head resting on Sam’s shoulder. “Thanks, Sammy,” he murmured. Sam wanted to stay standing in this beautiful peaceful spot with his brother safe in his arms forever, but he also wanted to get Dean naked on the bed just as soon as possible.

“You’re welcome,” he responded, “let’s unpack and cook something for dinner.”

The cabin was small, with just a tiny kitchen area and a lounge with a sofa, two chairs, a fireplace and a coffee table. There was one bedroom with an old wooden bed just about big enough for the two of them, although Sam doubted it was long enough for him to stretch his legs out fully without his feet hanging off the end. There was a small bathtub and a small shower in the bathroom, ‘that’s gonna make shower sex difficult, but not impossible – Dean’s gonna look so hot pressed up against those tiles…’

Sam managed to keep his hands off Dean long enough for them to explore the cabin, lay down salt lines, unpack their clothes and cook a meal. Bobby had insisted on packing some supplies for them, so they hadn’t needed to stop for groceries. He had included a tub of his chicken stew and Dean heated it up while Sam cut up some bread. Sam watched Dean lick his lips as he ate his stew, and he found it extremely hard to carry on eating; his brother’s lips were just too distracting.

“Sammy, quit staring!” Dean grumbled when he noticed Sam looking at him; “have I got food on my chin?”

“Your chin is just perfect, like the rest of you,” Sam grinned at him.

Dean blushed and chuckled, “aw, Sammy, you say the sweetest things!”

“I’m not joking Dean, you’re perfect - and you’re mine,” Sam regarded his brother, adding “tell me you’re mine; tell me how much you want me.”

Dean let his knife and fork fall onto his plate with a clatter. He blinked his wide eyes and swallowed nervously before answering. “I’m yours Sammy, always been yours. And I want you, want you…”

That was all Sam needed to hear. He was on his feet and in front of Dean in seconds, pulling his brother up onto his feet and kissing him.

 

Dean lay spread-eagled on the bed with his bowlegs parted and his arms flopped out either side of him on the mattress. A red flush ran from his upper chest up his neck and over his face. Sam loved him like this; he was so beautiful, panting open-mouthed and freshly-fucked.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam whispered as he stroked Dean’s thigh, loving the way it quivered this touch, “did I ever tell you you’re the best brother in the world?”

Dean smiled lazily up at him “yep, just before you fucked me,”

“And what,” Sam ran his hand up Dean’s flat stomach, stopping to tease his nipples, “do you have to say to me? Do you love me?”

“L-love you, S-Sammy,” Dean gasped as Sam pinched his nipples gently, “you’re a-amazing, love you little b-brother,”

Sam leaned down and kissed Dean, making it short but sweet. They were both exhausted from the long drive and from Sam’s need to make love in every room – luckily there were only three.

Sam pulled Dean into his arms and stroked his hair, “you’re happy aren't you Dean? Being here with me?” he asked, “we don’t need anyone else around; we can be happy, just you and me.”

“M’happy Sam, always wanted it to be jus’ you an’ me,” Dean mumbled, yawning.

“That’s good, I love you so much,” Sam whispered, watching Dean’s eyes close.

“Love you too,” Dean managed to mutter before sleep claimed him.

Sam needed to use the bathroom before he could fall asleep, so he gently moved Dean away from him and climbed out of the bed. He was heading for the bathroom when a noise stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Well, this is mighty fine,” Sam span around as he heard the familiar voice of the yellow-eyed demon, “I like it Sammy, it’s a real love nest for you and your little whore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe we're on chapter 17! Thanks to all of you who are still following the story, we're heading towards the end with just a few more chapters to go. 
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful beta dizzojay, who always manages to find the parts I wasn't quite happy with and improve them!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has a fairly idyllic few days with Dean at the lakeside cabin; but the Yellow-Eyed demon visits Sam and wants something from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 18!! Thanks to all still following the story, we're heading towards the end now, only two more chapters. Thanks to my wonderful betas dizzojay and somersaultj , for their continual help and support.
> 
> I do not own the characters of Sam and Dean or any others mentioned. I will not make any profit from this story.

“Well, this is mighty fine.”

Sam span around as he heard the familiar voice of the yellow-eyed demon, “I like it Sammy, it’s a real love nest for you and your little whore.”

“Don’t call him that,” Sam hissed, not wanting to disturb Dean, “he’s my brother and I love him.”

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” the demon shook his head in mock-concern. “We both know he’s not really your brother anymore; he’s nothing but a puppet, a plaything for you. You've got him right where you want him - on his knees with your dick inside him.”

“Fuck you!” Sam hissed as he advanced towards the demon, fists clenched and murder in his eyes.

“You know you can’t hurt me, Sammy-boy,” the demon growled; “but I suggest you play nice or I’ll hurt your pretty whore.”

Sam knew the demon would enjoy hurting Dean just to punish him, so he halted and glared at the demon, “What do you want?”

“Just wanna say you’re doing great, Sammy,” the demon grinned evilly at him. “I gotta say I love the whole incest thing you have going on. It’s making you ready for when I need you.”

“I’m not doing anything for you, you yellow-eyed bastard!” Sam retorted and as soon as the words left his mouth he heard Dean scream. Racing to the bedroom, he found Dean curled into a ball and clutching his stomach; the demon was already standing over him, grinning gleefully.

“Stop it, what the hell are you doing?” Sam yelled at the demon.

“Just reminding you who’s in control here, and to be a little more respectful,” the demon responded, watching intently as Dean writhed in pain.

“Please, stop; stop hurting him,” Sam begged; “I’ll do whatever you want.”

Dean’s body relaxed and his screaming stopped as abruptly as it had started.

“Good choice,” the demon replied; “and as you’re playing so nice, I’ll give you one week here with your little whore before I call on you.”

The demon vanished and Sam sank to his knees, physically and mentally exhausted.

Dean groaned and sat up. “Wha’s goin’ on? Why’re you on the floor?” he asked then groaned again, “ouch, shit, my stomach feels like someone kicked it.”

Sam scrambled over the floor and up onto the bed, hugging a startled Dean tightly.

“Ow! Sammy geroff, hurts!” Dean complained and Sam released him with a chuckle.

“Thank God,” he sighed in relief.

“What’s going on?” Dean demanded again as he rubbed his sore stomach.

“I had a bad dream, that you were being hurt,” Sam lied, “I think I must’ve been sleep walking too.”

Sam noticed that Dean’s face was pale and sweaty but before he could ask if he was okay, Dean pushed himself away from Sam, groaning “I don’t feel so good, Sammy. Shit, I’m gonna…”

Dean was up on his feet and halfway across the room when he started to vomit. Sam held him as he fell to his knees and suffered through several bouts of sickness. Sam knelt beside him, stroking his back and speaking reassuringly to him until the sickness subsided. Dean gave with a shudder and leaned against Sam, his body shaking.

“What the fuck was that? “ Dean groaned, shuddering again.

“Must be something we ate,” Sam replied, silently vowing to kill that fucking yellow-eyed bastard.

“Shit, you alright, Sammy?” Dean asked, pushing himself up to look at Sam’s face. It made Sam feel a twinge of guilt, as Dean’s first concern was always him. ‘As Dean is yours; you love him, don’t you? You love kissing him, fucking him, taking care of him.’

“I’m fine, really.” Sam reassured his brother, reaching out to stroke his face. “Let’s get you cleaned up and back in bed, okay?”

Dean nodded and let Sam help him to his feet, leaning against him as they walked through to the bathroom. Sam quickly cleared the vomit from the bedroom floor while Dean rinsed out his mouth and cleaned his teeth; then they climbed into the small shower together, Dean leaning wearily against Sam.

Sam was surprised that the close proximity of Dean’s naked, wet body hadn’t aroused him, but he was still reeling from the demon’s visit and he was bone-tired.

Once they were clean, dry and back in bed, Sam pulled Dean close, kissing him tenderly on the lips. “Love you so much,” he whispered as he broke the kiss.

“Love you too, Samantha,” Dean murmured before they fell asleep wrapped up together.

 

The next morning they were both subdued; Dean was still a little nauseous and Sam was feeling hopelessly trapped. What the hell did the demon want from him? And how could he resist the demon or kill it without losing Dean?

Sam suggested they went for a swim in the lake in the afternoon, and Dean was happy to do so until Sam stripped off his clothes at the water’s edge and jumped in, completely naked.

“Sammy, what the fuck?” Dean grumbled, looking around the deserted lakeside. “Someone could see you!”

“There’s no one around, you big girl! C’mon, strip off and join me,” Sam instructed and Dean did so, reluctantly.

“I hate you!” Dean grumbled, but he was soon in the water, kicking his legs out to splash Sam. They horsed around for a while, splashing each other and laughing like children. Sam couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so happy, or the last time he had seen Dean laugh.

Eventually, Dean ducked Sam’s head under the water and when he resurfaced, Dean was so close, so beautiful and so deliciously wet that Sam just had to grab him. Dean was laughing, thinking they were still just fooling around, but Sam pulled him close so that their naked bodies were pressed together and kissed him. Pulling back, Dean blushed, and looked like he was going to protest, but Sam held him tighter.

“You want this, don’t you, Dean?” Sam suggested, grinding his already hardening dick against Dean’s.

Dean nodded and Sam could feel his brother’s arousal too, despite the chilly water.

“Kiss me,” Sam commanded and Dean obeyed, all hesitation now gone. Sam could believe at times like this that Dean really wanted him - wanted to be with him, to kiss him, to be fucked by him.

‘Of course he wants you; he’s nothing but a whore. Even if he wasn’t spellbound he’d want it, it’s all he’s fit for. He’s lucky to have you taking care of him, or he’d be on his knees in some back alley…’

Sam ran his hands over Dean’s wet skin, gliding over his shoulders, down his back, then held him in place with one hand as he moved the other around to caress Dean’s dick. Dean moaned and gave up his grip on Sam’s shoulders, moving his hands down to touch Sam’s dick, both of them trembling in pleasure.

They stayed for a while in the lake, with their bodies, mouths and dicks pressed close together. Sam was so ready, but the water was too cold to get fully hard and he reluctantly pushed Dean away.

“Let’s…get…onto the shore…easier…” he gasped, realizing now how cold he was.

“Y-yeah, S-Sammy,” Dean’s teeth chattered as he spoke, “g-good idea!”

They raced to the shore and threw themselves on the large blanket Sam had spread out on the lakeside. Dean went to grab a towel but Sam shook his head.

“Nuh-uh, I like you wet!” Sam teased.

“Y-you won’t like me with freakin’ h-hypothermia!” Dean groused, and Sam noticed that his skin was covered in goosebumps.

“I’ll soon warm you up,” Sam winked at him, pulling him into a hug.

“D’you know how cheesy you sound?” Dean chided, but his body was already reacting to Sam’s, grinding against him.

“I’m only stating a fact, freckles,” Sam chuckled as he ran his fingertips over the sprinkle of freckles across Dean’s nose.

“Freckles? Really?” Dean groaned. “Man, you’re just full of cheesiness today.”

“I’m full of something and it ain’t cheese!” Sam grinned, as he pushed Dean down and moved on top of him.

Dean rolled his eyes at that, but then his eyes widened as he felt Sam’s heavy dick press up against his own. “Oh fuck!” he moaned.

“Mmm,” Sam agreed, not caring how cheesy he sounded again.

Dean giggled and Sam couldn’t resist kissing him; he was simply adorable like this, so playful, loving and ready. Sam loved the feeling of Dean’s cold damp body under his own. He ran his hands through Dean’s wet hair and over his shoulders as they kissed, his hips grinding against Dean’s all the while.

Breaking the kiss, Sam started to work his way down Dean’s beautiful body. He kissed and sucked each nipple, then kissed a trail down to Dean’s groin. He wanted to make it last longer, he wanted to kiss every inch of Dean’s perfect, pale, freckled skin but he would do that another time. He was so ready now; he grabbed Dean’s legs and pushed them up, grunting for Dean to hold his knees.

Sam licked his right index finger and ran it around Dean’s sweet hole, slipping it inside as Dean moaned in ecstasy. He added a second finger, wriggling them both and relishing the silky warmth that surrounded them.

“Sammy! Please!” Dean groaned desperately when Sam removed his fingers.

Sam grinned at him and bent down, licking across Dean’s hole, making him curse and moan more. Sam’s tongue soon filled Dean’s hole and he thrust it in as far as he could. Sam wanted Dean to come right now, so he added a finger alongside his tongue and with his free hand he grasped Dean’s rock hard dick, jerking it slowly, in time with the thrusts of his tongue and finger. Dean came quickly, screaming a mixture of both Sam’s name and God’s name as he did so.

Rocking back onto his knees, Sam smiled down at his beautiful brother, who was panting now, his dick still twitching. Sam ran his hand through the come sprayed over Dean’s flat stomach and lifted it to Dean’s mouth.

“Lick them,” Sam whispered, hardly daring to believe that Dean would do this.

Dean looked for a moment like he might refuse but instead he grabbed Sam’s wrist, holding his hand firmly as his tongue glided over Sam’s fingers.

“Holy shit!” Sam exclaimed, as Dean’s tongue teased over the sensitive skin between each finger. 

‘See how good he is at being a whore? It’s what he’s been trained to do, it’s all he can do now, and he does it exquisitely. All for you now, all just for you.’

Once he had licked Sam’s hand clean, Dean moved back, still holding Sam’s wrist and smiling up at him as he licked his too-fucking-pretty lips. Sam’s dick gave a twitch at the sight before him and his lust took over his body and mind. Grabbing Dean’s shoulders, he rolled him over, growling for Dean to get up on his knees. Once Dean was in position, he ran one finger over that sweet hole, then without any further prep or warning, he lined up his dick and thrust in, deep and hard. Dean gave a shocked cry but Sam just gripped his brother’s hips and pounded into him, ignoring Dean’s grunts and moans of pain.

Sam was balls deep now and it didn’t take many more frantic thrusts before he was coming, deep inside Dean, oblivious to anything other than the amazing sensation of filling his brother. He flopped down across Dean’s back and Dean’s knees gave way under the weight, but he was still inside him and intended to stay that way; it felt so fucking good.

“S-Sammy, you’re hurting me,” Dean moaned, and Sam realized he was gripping Dean’s wrists. He smelled blood and sat up quickly, his spent dick plopping out and leaving a trail of come. Part of him wanted to scoop it up and feed it to Dean, but the smell of blood was stronger now. Sam looked in horror at Dean’s wrist – the bandage was soaked in blood, he had gripped it so tight he had reopened the wounds there.

“Oh shit, Dean, I’m so sorry,” he muttered, helping Dean to turn over and sit up so that he could carefully remove the wet bloodied bandage. “Crap, I forgot, I should’ve…”

“It’s my fault,” Dean apologized, “it got wet in the lake…”

“Fuck it, Dean, don’t blame yourself!” Sam yelled, angry with himself more than Dean, “I did this to you! Why do you always fucking blame yourself?”

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered, looking shocked by Sam’s anger.

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry, for everything,” Sam sighed, ashamed at hurting and scaring Dean. “Here, I’ll wrap my t-shirt around it and we’ll sort it out back at the cabin, okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean acquiesced, watching as Sam wrapped his t-shirt around his wrist, then letting Sam pull him into a tight hug. After Sam released him and helped him stand up, he noticed the wince Dean gave and felt mortified for treating his brother so badly. They got dressed and walked back to the cabin, Dean limping along as Sam’s shame grew with each step.

Sam made Dean rest on the sofa while he cleaned and bandaged his wrist; then he gave him some pain-killers with a glass of water. He could see that Dean was exhausted, so he lifted his legs up onto the sofa and covered him with a blanket.

Dean hadn’t said a word so far and Sam just couldn’t think of anything to say. As he stared down at him, Dean’s bottom lip trembled and he ran his hand over his eyes, trying to hide his tears.

“I’m really sorry, Dean; I was too rough with you,” Sam admitted, pleased that Dean’s eyes were shielded and he didn’t have to see the pain and betrayal in them.

“You said you love me, Sammy, but you hurt me, an’ not just my wrist,” Dean lowered his hand but his eyes were closed.

“I know and I won’t ever hurt you again,” Sam vowed, but he knew he was lying.

‘Next time just tell him he likes it rough, that he gets off on it. Remember he’s yours, and you can do whatever you like to him, and make him think he likes it too.’

Dean didn’t respond, except to surreptitiously away a stray tear as he turned his body back into the sofa, to face away from Sam.  
Sitting in one of the old armchairs, Sam watched Dean sleep. He hated himself for hurting Dean, partly because his brother had been hurt enough by all those bastards at The Brothel, but mainly because he loved Dean and wanted to look after him. Dean muttered something unintelligible as he twitched in his sleep. Reaching out, Sam patted his brother’s shoulder gently, whispering endearments to him until he settled once more.

“Fuck, Dean,” he muttered as he sat back in the chair, “what the hell am I supposed to do? If I release you from the spell you’ll remember everything. You’ll hate me, and you might even wanna end it all, like you did when you found out you’d been in that place for three years.” He sighed and rubbed his hand over his smarting eyes. “I can’t… I won’t risk that. I gotta look after you, you’re my big brother, and I love you.”

Sam wept out some of his shame and confusion in hot, angry tears and silent sobs. When he couldn’t cry any more, he pulled himself upright and headed to the bathroom to wash his face.

Once he had regained his composure, he looked through their supplies and was relieved to find some of Bobby’s home-made chili in a plastic tub. He found some rice and cooked it as he heated up the chili.

The smell woke Dean, who wandered into the kitchen scratching his head and yawning. His hair was all messed up from sleeping on the sofa and he looked like an adorably overgrown five-year old.

“Hey there,” Sam greeted him, “I was gonna wake you but you beat me to it.”

“Smells good,” Dean remarked, “I can’t believe I’m hungry; I didn’t think I’d ever wanna eat again after last night.”

“Fresh air will do that to you,” Sam replied, turning back to stir the chili.

“An’ getting royally fucked, I guess,” Dean retorted and Sam froze in horror. However, when he looked round at his brother, Dean was grinning. “Don’t look so worried, Sammy, I’m still in one piece...just about, anyhow!”

Sam chuckled, relieved, and left the stove to pull Dean into his arms. “I love you so much, d’you know that?” Sam told him before he kissed him briefly on the lips.

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” Dean teased.

“D’you love me Dean?” Sam probed, needing to hear it.

“Of course I do,” Dean replied with shy smile.

“Tell me,” Sam demanded, “tell me you love me.”

“I love you, Sam.” Dean answered sincerely and Sam was sure he could see the love shining from those amazing green eyes. Dean spoilt the moment by adding “now enough with the chick flick moment, I’m starving!”

 

The next few days passed in a sweet haze of hiking, swimming, fucking, cooking, sparring, fucking, talking, laughing and more fucking. Sam knew he had never been as close to Dean as he was right now. When they were growing up, Dean always had to be the big brother, the one in control, the one who set the rules and Sam had followed his big brother eagerly enough when he was a kid. As he’d grown older, he started to resent Dean a little, and to rebel against him from time to time.

He’d even run away back in Flagstaff and hadn’t really thought about how upset his brother would be, or how much trouble he’d be in with their dad. He remembered Dean’s face when they had finally been reunited; he was so pale and the dark circles under his eyes suggested he hadn’t slept in days. He had a busted lip and Sam had known who had given it to him and why – he had run off on Dean’s watch. Sam’s relationship with John had deteriorated more after Flagstaff, but he’d never done anything to cause trouble for Dean again.

Now, Sam mused, they were equals; he no longer saw himself as the little brother. He had saved Dean and was taking care of him. Now they were more than just brothers; they were lovers, partners, and soul mates, meant to be together. They were spread out on the rug by the lakeside and Sam chuckled to himself at what Dean would say if he knew Sam thought they were soul mates.

‘Dean would accept it if you told him it was a fact; you know you’re in complete control of him and he’d do anything for you. He’d always do anything for you; just now it also involves bending over whenever you want him to.’

“Whatcha laughing at?” Dean drawled lazily.

“Just having a random thought,” Sam replied, rolling onto his side to look down at Dean.

“Ya gonna share with the class?” Dean murmured, suppressing a yawn. His freckles had deepened in the sunshine and his skin was reddening too. His lips were pouting and so kissable.

“Nah, I’m gonna kiss you instead.” Sam replied, rolling over again so that he was on top of Dean.

“Sammy, I’m tired,” Dean complained, and Sam wasn’t really surprised. They’d fucked after their swim and also earlier that day before breakfast.

“I’m only gonna kiss you, promise,” Sam smiled down at him then peppered Dean’s face, lips and neck with sweet short kisses. Dean sighed in contentment and Sam didn’t think he had ever felt happier. Nuzzling into Dean’s neck, he sighed too.

The only cloud on his horizon was the demon’s threat to return, and Sam realized with a sinking heart that tomorrow was the day the demon had talked about; the day his idyll with Dean would be at an end.

Dean noticed him tense up and stroked his back. “What’s wrong?” Dean asked; “You got a cramp or something?”

“Something,” Sam responded vaguely. He maneuvered them around so that he was on his back with Dean lying on top of him, and wrapped his arms around his brother.

“I just don’t want this to end.” Sam sighed, holding Dean tightly.

“We can’t stay here forever, Sammy,” Dean replied, his breath tickling Sam’s neck as he spoke.

“I know, but I wish we could,” Sam replied wistfully.

 

That night Dean rustled up a ‘throw-everything-in’ stew, which was surprisingly tasty. Sam knew whatever happened they’d have to go into town tomorrow; they were almost out of food. In bed later, Sam kissed and nibbled his way down Dean’s body, finishing off by treating him to a blow job, which Dean returned with enthusiasm. Sensing that Sam was still troubled, Dean took him in his arms, stroking his hair and promising to never leave him.

Dean was asleep first, his movements stilling and his breathing getting heavier but Sam didn’t think he would get any rest. However, the warmth of Dean’s body and the steady rhythm of his breathing eventually lulled Sam into sleep.

When he woke up, it was daylight and Dean wasn’t there. Clambering out of bed in a panic, he called out Dean’s name as he searched the rooms of the small cabin. He went outside and froze, looking on in horror at the forest which looked like it had been flattened; as if every tree had been pulled up by the roots and tossed back on the ground.

His voice became desperate as he called out for Dean, scrambling over tree trunks and exposed roots. After what seemed like hours, Sam saw one tree still standing and headed towards it. As he approached he saw two figures, one tied to the tree and the other prowling around him. Recognizing the figure tied to the tree, Sam cried out Dean’s name, and when he saw that the other figure was whipping Dean’s back, his struggle to make his way through the destroyed forest grew more frantic.

“Stop it!” Sam screamed and the figure turned to look at him. He had guessed who it was, but seeing the demon with his usual smirk, holding a whip dripping with Dean’s blood, made Sam’s blood boil. Lunging towards the demon, he was quickly and efficiently restrained in mid-air by a flick of the demon’s hand.

Dean’s back looked like a slab of meat and thankfully he had passed out from the pain at some point. Sam struggled furiously against his invisible bonds and the demon laughed.

“I’m pleased you made it, Sammy,” the demon announced. “Y’see, Dean’s not just your plaything anymore, he’s mine too. And I have a much more…inventive imagination than you.”

With another flick of his hand, Dean’s body was flipped around to face them, still tied to the tree. Dean was awake now, but his eyes were glazed and he didn’t seem to know that Sam was there.

“Dean, knees,” the demon ordered and Dean knelt at the base of the tree. The ropes that had bound him to the tree had disappeared but Dean made no move to try to escape. Sam tried to call out to his brother, but his voice was as trapped and useless as his body.

He had no option but to watch as the demon face-fucked Dean, grinning at Sam all the time, and holding Dean’s head so firmly that Dean had passed out by the time the demon released him. Dean collapsed to the ground and Sam screamed in frustration when he saw the blood covering Dean’s back, willing his body to move so he could get to Dean.

“Sammy!” Dean’s voice startled him, as Dean was unconscious, so how was he speaking? Dean spoke again and Sam’s cheek stung from a slap. “Sam! C’mon wake up!”

Opening his eyes, Sam saw Dean’s worried face peering down at him. “Thank God!” Dean sighed. “Fucking hell Sam, you had me worried there; you were screaming your head off!”

“Dean, you’re okay?” Sam reached out to touch Dean, to reassure himself that this Dean was real and that he was alright.

“I’m fine, just freaked out,” Dean replied, managing a slight smile of reassurance, “that was some dream, d’you wanna talk about it?”

“You were being hurt, tied up and whipped…” Sam regretted the words as soon as he said them. Dean’s face went pale and his eyes showed his distress. “Shit, I’m sorry; I guess you remember some of that stuff from The Brothel.”

“Yeah, none of it good,” Dean admitted.

“You’re safe now Dean, no one’s ever gonna hurt you again, okay?” Sam coaxed as he stroked Dean’s arm. “You’re mine and I’m gonna take care of you.”

Dean nodded and soon they were hugging, taking comfort from each other. Sam was relieved it had been a dream, and that he had Dean safe in his arms. He needed more, he needed all of Dean, he had to claim him, to feel him all around him.

“Dean, I want you,” Sam whispered, knowing that Dean was still sore from earlier.

“Sammy, I…” Dean tried to protest but Sam stroked his dick, making him moan.

“I’ll make it good for you, you know I will,” Sam vowed, “please, Dean, let me love you.”

At that, Dean was putty in Sam’s hands, rolling over onto his back so that Sam could fuck him. Sam started off slowly, not wanting to hurt Dean, and he reined in his need to claim Dean with a hard, fast fuck. He was as gentle as he could be, thrusting until he came with a cry of release inside his brother.

Dean was sobbing quietly and Sam knew it hadn’t been good for Dean like he’d promised, only for him. He felt like a complete bastard, but he had needed to claim Dean so badly. This was possibly their last night together, and his dream of the demon abusing Dean had disturbed him. 

‘Dean is yours, no one else’s. And you’ll do whatever it takes to keep him. You can tell yourself you just want to protect him, but it’s more than that. You like using him, fucking him, hurting him…’

Sam ignored the voice in his head as he cradled Dean in his arms, telling him he loved him and that he would take care of him. Sam was surprised to feel the sting of hot tears his in own eyes too. Eventually their sobs subsided, and they both fell asleep, curled up together, once again.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Yellow Eyed Demon visits Sam again and tells him what he wants him to do. Sam and Dean leave the cabin to return to Bobby's, where they hear news from John - he's found The Colt. Bobby leaves to find John and help him. Sam make the most of his last few days with Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I’m sorry for the delay with this penultimate chapter. I attended my first con in May and it made my brain go to mush for a while! Thanks to all of you who are still following the story and a huge thanks to my wonderful betas dizzojay and somersault_j, for all their help and support.

It was almost over, their little sojourn from reality. Sam knew the demon would show up sometime today, with his trademark smirk on his ugly face, and Sam would finally know what was expected of him.

Sensing Sam’s unease and anxiety, Dean kept glancing at Sam as they sat by the lake in the warm sunshine. Finally, he asked, “what’s wrong, Sammy?”

Sam fought down the need to tell Dean about the demon, longing to be able to share his burden with his big brother, but knowing it was impossible.

“I’m okay,” he replied, faking a smile; “I guess my nightmare’s still weighing on me. Nothing for you to worry about.” He reached out and patted Dean’s knee.

“Oh, okay,” Dean responded, smiling back happily, “d’you wanna go for a swim?”

“No, not today,” Sam sighed, “but you can, you don’t have to wait for me.”

Dean stripped off his t-shirt and jeans and ran into the lake wearing just his boxers. He shrieked at the cold and dived under the surface, coming up shaking his head and laughing.

“F-fuck it’s f-freezing!” he called out to Sam.

“I’m pleased it’s you in there and not me, then!” Sam yelled back.

He watched Dean swim in the still lake water, his movements effortless and graceful. He always loved watching Dean, and right now he looked so carefree that Sam couldn’t help feeling a little proud. Sam had done this; he had made Dean forget the horrors of The Brothel. Yes, he knew it was partially due to the influence of the spell but it was also because he loved Dean. Everything he did, everything he had done, those people he had killed, it was all for Dean. He thought of how easy it was to manipulate him – as he had just done, when Dean had been worried about him, all Sam had to do was tell him not to be and hey presto, the worry was gone.

Having Dean obey him without question was pretty great, but the very best thing was that Dean was actually happy. He was healthy, he was gaining weight and he had even caught the sun, making his freckles stand out more. 

‘That’s the very best thing? Really? Don’t you mean having Dean as your personal Brothel Boy?’

If the spell was broken, what would happen to Dean? Would he have some kind of breakdown, would he hate Sam? Would he try to kill himself again? Sam couldn’t stand the thought of any of those things, and he knew he would do whatever the demon wanted to keep his brother under his spell. To keep his brother safe. Yes, he knew he was being selfish, but he was helping Dean too.

‘Yep, keep telling yourself that. It’s all for Dean’s benefit. You know it’s bullshit.”

Sam wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting, lost in thought and watching Dean swim, but now Dean was heading out of the lake, shivering with cold, dripping wet, the water making his skin glisten. Sam’s dick twitched at the glorious sight of his almost-naked, wet brother.

“Crap, I s-should’ve brought a t-towel…” Dean stuttered and picked up his t-shirt, pulling it over his head; “gonna head b-back…”

Sam realized he was staring at Dean and forced himself to chuckle; “yeah, your goosebumps have goosebumps.”

“You coming?” Dean asked as he quickly pulled on his jeans and boots.

It was an innocent question but it made Sam’s dick harden more. Sam nodded and stood up, moving over to Dean. He looked so young, so beautiful; his hair looked darker when wet and made his eyes look a deeper shade of green. Sam grabbed his wrist and pulled him close.  
“I love you,” he whispered into Dean’s ear, “tell me you love me too.”

“I love you, Sammy,” Dean murmured in response, his eyes widening as Sam ground his now fully hard dick against Dean’s own.

“You’re so beautiful, you make me want you so much,” Sam put his hand behind Dean’s head, holding the wet hair in his hand. “Want you now.”

“S-Sammy, I’m wet and f-freezing,” Dean complained, but he didn’t attempt to pull away.

“I want you now, Dean,” Sam repeated, “on your knees.” He kept his hand on Dean’s head as Dean sank to his knees, looking resentful. “You want this as much as I do, don’t you, Dean? You love sucking my dick, don’t you?” Sam felt a thrill as Dean’s expression changed from resentment to acceptance, then to eagerness.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck, Sammy, want you…want you,” Dean muttered as he undid Sam’s jeans and stroked his dick gently, his big green eyes fixed on Sam’s, then he added; “wanna suck you, Sammy.”

“Oh God, Dean, you’re so fucking perfect!” Sam replied. “Do it, do it now!”

Dean pushed Sam’s jeans and boxers down until they pooled around his ankles; Dean licked the tip of Sam’s dick, sending a shiver from his dick all the way up Sam’s spine. Dean held Sam’s dick with one hand while he licked and sucked it teasingly before letting it slip inside his eager mouth, wrapped in his beautiful lips. Sam was so hard it didn’t take long before he was coming, holding onto Dean’s wet hair and thrusting as far as he could. Dean gagged and choked but he swallowed Sam down and when Sam released him he was looking dazed but smiling happily up at him.

‘Look how much he loves sucking cock, it’s what he’s good at, what he’s been trained to do, and he loves it. Look how happy he is…’

“Fuck, Dean, that was…” Sam sank to his knees and pulled Dean into a hug, murmuring, “you’re so fucking amazing, I love you so much.”

Dean sighed happily and buried his face into Sam’s neck. Sam could feel Dean shivering through the dampness of his clothes. He could also feel the bulge in Dean’s jeans and was torn between continuing where they were or heading back to the cabin, given that Dean’s shivering was now accompanied by chattering teeth.

“C’mon, let’s get back to the cabin and warm you up,” he chuckled, winking at Dean as he pulled away from him. They walked back to the cabin in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Sam was still on edge, wondering when the demon would make an appearance. He also wondered what Dean was thinking about.

“You okay?” he asked as they neared the cabin.

Dean looked startled; he had been completely lost in thought. “Yeah, m’fine,” he answered, but Sam knew it was a lie and that he didn’t have to accept Dean’s game face any more.

“No, you’re not. What’s wrong?” Sam stopped walking and Dean slowed down, turning to face him.

“I was just thinking, about us, um, I mean…” Dean bit his bottom lip and Sam hid a grin. It was those fucking lips that had made Sam want Dean, that had made Sam take Dean all those weeks ago. “I love you, Sammy, and it’s been fun, but what’re we gonna do?”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“We can’t stay here forever,” Dean explained, rubbing his cold arms with his hands, still shivering; “what are we gonna do? You could go back to Stanford…”

“I’m never going back there Dean; that life’s over for me.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean apologized, and he looked so pathetic that Sam wanted to shake him.

“Don’t,” Sam snapped; “don’t be sorry. It’s nothing to do with you; I never really fit in there. I was trying to be something I wasn’t.”

Dean looked like he was going to apologize again and thought better of it. “I’m cold,” he said instead and started walking again.

“Dean, wait,” Sam commanded and smiled as his brother halted; “what would you do, if I went back to Stanford?”

“I…” Dean frowned, confused, “I don’t know. I always wanted to hunt, y’know, family business and all that. But now I just…” his eyes filled with tears; “I just want to be with you, Sammy, an’ I’m so fucking scared that you’ll leave me, I don’t know what I’d do…”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Sam pulled Dean into a hug; “I’m not going anywhere. I love you and I want to be with you. Okay?”

“Fuck, when did I become such a fucking wimp?” Dean groaned into Sam’s neck.

“You’re not a wimp at all.” Sam pushed Dean back a little to look into his eyes. ”You’re strong, and brave. You’ve been through so much and you’ve survived.”

Dean nodded and rubbed his eyes with his fists, “I couldn’t have done it without you, Sammy.”

“C’mon, nearly there.” Sam grabbed Dean’s hand, resuming their walk back to the cabin, which was almost in sight. “We’re gonna shower and warm you up, then I’m gonna make you…”

Sam’s words faltered as he saw a shadow on the porch of the cabin. It looked like a man, but it wasn’t solid and faded as Sam stared at it.

“What’re you gonna make me?” Dean prompted.

“What?” Sam glanced at Dean and back at the cabin. Whatever it was had gone.

“You said you were gonna make me something.”

“Just keep quiet.” Sam snapped, seeing a flash of defiance and hurt in Dean’s eyes. Despite that, Dean did as instructed. Sam needed to think, he needed to have some kind of plan. They reached the cabin and Sam entered first, pulling out his gun as he moved inside cautiously. It was empty and he gave a sigh of relief.

“Go and shower, put on some dry clothes,” he ordered Dean, who was frowning at him.

“I thought we were gonna shower together,” Dean pouted, making Sam want to slam him against the wall, bite that full bottom lip and kiss him until they were both dizzy.

“Not now,” Sam sighed; “perhaps later. Just go and do it, Dean.”

Reluctantly, Dean complied, but Sam could swear he sauntered a bit more than usual, his ass wiggling in invitation.

‘He’s such a fucking tease. Look at him; he wants you to take him, to hold him down, to fuck him hard and fast.’

Sam groaned as he watched Dean go. The bathroom door clicked shut but Sam knew Dean hadn’t locked it, he never did. Sam was about to follow his brother when he became aware of a presence behind him.

“Keep up those naughty thoughts, Sammy.” The yellow-eyed demon was there, sitting slouched on the tatty couch. “I can hardly blame you for wanting that fine piece of ass.”

Sam didn’t rise to the bait this time; instead he walked as calmly as he could over to the armchair opposite the couch and sat down.

“No retaliation? No denial?” The demon grinned. “So you wanna get straight to business, I guess.”

Sam stared at the demon, just wanting to get this over before Dean finished his shower.

“I have a job for you, Sammy.” The demon leaned forward, like he was sharing a secret; “now, you know there’s no such thing as a free lunch, or in this case a free spell. There’s a gun that I need, an old Colt .45, I think your daddy’s on the trail of it. I want that gun; don’t care how you get it.”

“Why don’t you get it yourself?” Sam growled, hating that he was being forced into a corner here.

“If it were that easy, I’d have it by now, sport.” The demon replied; “Its location is heavily warded against demons, which is why I need your sweet little ass to go get it for me.”

“How am I supposed to get it?” Sam responded sullenly. “My dad hasn’t told me anything.”

“You’re a smart cookie, Sam,” the demon chuckled; “you work it out. Get the Colt, hand it to me, or I end the spell and give Dean his memories back.” The demon paused with a twisted grin, then added, “and it will be bye-bye pliant, needy little puppet; hello angry, angsty, broken Dean.”

“You bastard!” Sam growled, launching himself across the small space between them and at the demon, determined to knock that smug smirk off his face. With just a flick of his wrist the demon sent him falling back into the chair, immobilizing him, and grinning as Sam strained futilely against the invisible force that held him.

“I think you need to understand the stakes here, sunshine,” the demon snarled. He called out in a voice that sounded just like Sam’s, “come here, Dean.”

Sam tried to speak, to warn Dean, to rant at the demon, but his voice was gone.

Dean emerged from the bathroom, with just a towel around his waist. “Sammy, what’s goin’ on?” he asked, looking from Sam to the demon in confusion.

“Hi there, Dean, it’s great to meet you again.” The demon grinned at Dean, and then whispered one word that made Sam’s heart sink. “Remember.”

Dean’s eyes opened wide in panic and his face drained of all color. “Sammy, no, no… ” Dean wailed, his face registering his shock, betrayal and disgust. He sank to his knees and looked like he was going to pass out, puke or both. “I trusted you an’ you…you used me….”

“Dean, no, it’s not like that; I love you, please don’t hate me.” Sam pleaded, grateful to be able to speak again, and hating the look of horror on Dean’s face.

“Save it, sport,” the demon ordered, “he’s not gonna remember, this time.” He clicked his fingers and Dean collapsed onto the ground, unconscious.

“Holy shit,” Sam groaned, “you son of a bitch.”

“So, do we have a deal Sammy-boy?” The demon asked and Sam nodded. “Gonna need more than that, you gotta seal the deal, kid.”

“I’m not fucking kissing you,” Sam snarled.

“Well, that would be tempting, but that’s not what I need,” the demon grinned, “I just need your vow, that’s all, but if you break, it you know the consequences.”

“Okay,” Sam sighed wearily, “what do I have to do?”

“Repeat after me,” the demon commanded, “I, Sam Winchester, being of almost sound mind, do hereby solemnly swear to retrieve the Colt and hand over the said Colt. If I fail, the spell I used on my brother will end and he will regain his memories of me repeatedly fucking him into the mattress.”

“You sick bastard.” Sam growled.

“Now you know it doesn’t start like that, Sammy!” the demon laughed; “but I admire your fighting spirit. Repeat after me…”

Sam repeated the words of the vow as the demon recited them again, wanting nothing more than to rip him apart with his bare hands.

“Excellent, I look forward to hearing from you,” the demon concluded. He clicked his fingers, releasing Sam, and disappeared almost instantly.

Rising to his feet, Sam rushed over to Dean, kneeling down beside him to check him over. He was relieved that Dean appeared fine, despite being still unconscious. Sam gently dragged him over to the sofa and lifted him up onto it, covering his naked body with a blanket.

Sam packed up their belongings, his mind racing as he did so. He could get Bobby to do a tracking spell to locate John then follow him, but his dad was unlikely to just hand the gun over, he needed it for a reason. The demon obviously wanted the Colt before John could get it…holy fuck…the yellow-eyed demon was the thing his dad was hunting, the thing that had killed their mom. Sam felt sick but he also felt stupid – how had he not put the clues together before now?

He picked up his cell phone, his hands trembling, and called Bobby.

“Bobby, it’s Sam,” he whispered, trying to hold back tears of frustration and shock.

“What the hell’s wrong?” Bobby asked in alarm. “Is it Dean? Is he…?”

“Not Dean, he’s fine,” Sam reassured him, “but I-I’m in a mess Bobby, I need your help.”

Sam told Bobby a version of the truth – that he had been visited by the yellow-eyed demon and had been using a spell to suppress Dean’s memories. He told Bobby about what the demon wanted and his vow, and that he was afraid Dean would have a breakdown if he remembered everything.

‘Yeah, if the old coot knew what you’d really used the spell for, he’d blow your balls off with his shotgun. Dean’s always been his favorite.”

They left for Sioux Falls as soon as Dean was awake and ready.

 

Bobby greeted them at the door with a surly hello and a flask of holy water. Once he was satisfied they weren’t possessed, he gave both Sam then Dean a bear hug.

“What the hell, Bobby,” Dean protested; “we’ve only been gone a week!”

Bobby ignored him, focusing on Sam. “You stupid idjit.”

“Dean, why don’t you go and fix a pot of coffee,” Sam suggested to his brother, and once they were alone, he gave Bobby a sad smile. “Thanks for helping.”

“What were you thinking, using a spell on your brother?” Bobby hissed, “an’ making deals with demons, you know it’s not gonna end well.”

“Dad’s on his trail;” Sam explained, “I think the Colt could kill him. He said there was only one thing that could and it makes sense why he wants to get his hands on it.”

“You know you can’t give him the Colt,” Bobby sighed; “An’ you can’t keep Dean under this spell, no matter what happens. It’s just wrong, Sam, and he wouldn’t want it. Fuck, you’re doing the same as The Brothel did!”

Sam felt a blush creep over his face; how the hell did Bobby know? Before he could say anything, Bobby continued.

“Keepin’ him spell-bound is the same as druggin’ him,” Bobby snarled, “Can’t you see that?”

Sam gave an inward sigh of relief; thankfully, Bobby didn’t know the full extent of the spell.

“I know,” he replied, ashamed of both Bobby’s accusation and of what he had done; “I was trying to help him, Bobby. After he…after he cut his wrist I just had to do something!”

The expression on Bobby’s careworn face changed from angry to sad. “I know you did, kid, but not this,” he sighed.

“Coffee’s ready!” Dean called out cheerfully from the kitchen. They went through and Dean gave them a grin. “I found some pie in the fridge, hope you don’t mind, Bobby?”

“Course not,” Bobby replied gruffly; “help yourself, I gotta, um, gotta make a call.”

“Thanks!” Dean sat down at the kitchen table, cutting off a huge piece of pie for himself.

Sam watched Bobby wiping his eyes surreptitiously as he left the kitchen. He knew how the old hunter felt – Dean was so happy now and once the spell was broken…

“Sam?” Dean’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Earth to Sam! D’you want some?”

“No, thanks, just coffee’s good.” Sam sank into a chair and ran his hand over his tired eyes.

“You alright? You look like shit.” Dean mumbled through a mouthful of pie.

“I’m just tired,” Sam gave Dean a forced smile. If the spell was going to be broken, he wanted Dean’s last days under it to be happy. He sipped the strong coffee – Dean always made it too strong for Sam’s taste but on this occasion he didn’t mind.

“Y’should eat something,” Dean advised, “you ain’t had anything since breakfast.”

Sam knew Dean was right; when they stopped for gas, Dean had got burgers and fries and ended up eating all of it, as Sam wasn’t hungry. He still wasn’t, as his stomach was filled with a knot of anxiety.

“I’m okay, I’ll eat later,” Sam replied, just as Bobby came back in.

“Just managed to track down your daddy,” he informed them grimly. “He’s at the home of a hunter, Daniel Elkins.” Bobby sat down heavily and Sam knew the news wasn’t good. “Elkins was dead; he’d been tortured.”

“Wait…what’s going on? Who’s Elkins?” Dean asked, his fork clattering down on to the plate as he sensed the tension in the air.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about,” Sam told Dean, reaching out to touch Dean’s hand in reassurance.

“Sam!” Bobby rebuked him, “he needs to know what’s going on!”

“Sammy?” Dean queried, confused.

“Fuck,” Sam cursed, then turned to Dean. “Dad’s on the trail of the thing that killed mom. It’s a demon and it can only be killed with a specific gun, a Colt .45.”

“Dammit, Sammy, we should be with him,” Dean yelled; “why the fuck have we been lazing around at the fucking cabin when he’s in danger?”

“I was keeping you safe,” Sam retorted angrily. “You can’t help Dad, and he didn’t want us to!”

“Can it, boys!” Bobby raised his voice firmly, getting their attention; “let me finish telling you what your daddy said, an’ then you can bawl at each other all you want to.”

“Sorry, Bobby,” they replied in unison, and Sam knew Dean felt like a kid again under Bobby’s glare, just as he did.

“Alright, Elkins left a message for your daddy, coordinates to a locker and John’s on his way there,” Bobby explained. “Elkins had always denied the rumors that he had the Colt, but he must’ve had it,” Bobby looked directly at Sam; “there were traces of sulfur, seems demons tortured him for the information.”

“But we don’t know if he told them,” Sam sighed.

“My guess is he didn’t. Elkins was a vamp hunter, tough as they come,” Bobby informed them; “there’s no way he’d break.”

“Poor bastard,” Dean murmured, then added with a hint of fear in his voice, “what if…what if they’re following dad?”

“I’ve got to go to him,” Sam stood up; “give me the address, Bobby.”

“Nope, no way,” Bobby shook his head firmly, “I’m going and you two are staying right here.”

“It’s not your fight, Bobby!” Sam protested; “that demon killed our mom!”

“I never knew your ma, kid,” Bobby replied angrily, “but John’s my friend and if he needs help, then it is my fight!”

“We should all go,” Dean interjected, adding; “I can fight, I’m not fucking useless!” when Sam glanced over at him.

“Fuck, this is fucking insane,” Sam grumbled; “look, I’m going to help dad. Bobby you’re staying here with Dean, and that’s the end of it.”

To Sam’s complete shock, Bobby’s fist landed on his chin, knocking him to the ground. Sam’s head hit the floor hard and he knew he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.

“Sorry, kid,” Bobby grunted, adding; “look after your brother, Dean,” as he quickly left the room.

“Sam!” Dean was on his knees, helping Sam up. The room span as he leaned into Dean’s body.

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” Dean muttered, “Sam? Sammy, you okay?”

“Head hurts like a bitch, but we have to follow him.” Sam answered, willing the room to stop turning.

Dean managed to get Sam upright and helped him out to the front door. They could hear Bobby’s truck already rumbling away from the yard, but when Dean tried to open the front door, they realized that it was locked.

“Fucking stupid old bastard!” Dean grumbled. “Does he seriously think this will stop us? I’ll just pick the lock.”

“There’s no point. By the time you’ve done that he’ll be long gone,” Sam sighed and leaned more heavily on Dean; “and I think I need to sit down.”

Dean helped Sam through to Bobby’s cluttered lounge and onto the sofa, laying him back on a pile of cushions and gently lifting his legs up. “I’ll get you some painkillers,” he reassured, “you stay there.”

“Yes, nurse,” Sam tried to grin but his throbbing head made it more like a grimace.

Dean soon returned with pills and a glass of water, handing them to Sam. He also had an ice pack tucked under his arm.

“Shit, who knew Bobby had such a strong right hook?” Dean grumbled, kneeling down and holding the ice pack against Sam’s bruised chin.

“I think there’s a lot we don’t know about Bobby,” Sam answered. He didn’t want to sleep, he wanted to go find their dad and Bobby, but he was so very tired.

 

The house phone’s shrill ring woke him some time later. It was dark so he knew he’d been asleep for some hours.

“Hey, yeah, that’s great.” He heard Dean speaking to someone. “And dad’s okay? You sure?” Sam could hear Dean’s sigh of relief, followed by “he’s sleeping, he’ll be okay.” Dean rounded off the conversation with, “thanks, Bobby, keep in touch.”

Dean walked slowly into the room, obviously not wanting to wake Sam if he had managed to sleep through the phone’s ring.

“It’s alright, I’m awake,” Sam sat up a little and groaned, “ouch.”

“Still hurting?” Dean couldn’t hide his grin as he approached Sam.

“What do you think?” Sam snapped.

“That was Bobby,” Dean sat on the end of the couch; “he’s with dad, they’ve got the Colt.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Sam sighed, rubbing his sore chin; “I’m kinda surprised it was that easy.”

“I guess Bobby’s pretty good at covering his tracks,” Dean shrugged, “and if demons were following dad, he’s probably given them the slip by now.”

“I hope you’re right,” Sam replied, just as his stomach rumbled.

They both laughed and Dean stood up. “Okay, I’m fixing some supper and you’re gonna eat it.”

“Thanks, I guess I could eat something.” Sam admitted, easing himself slowly into a sitting position.

Dean rustled up bacon, scrambled eggs, hash browns and toast; the smell was wonderful. Getting up, Sam followed the aroma into the kitchen, ignoring his pounding head. Dean scolded him for moving from the couch, but still helped him to sit at the table. Dean served up the food and Sam ate it all with relish, grateful that Bobby always kept a well-stocked fridge.

“Did Bobby say what their next move would be?” Sam asked when he finished eating.

“They’re trying to locate the demon,” Dean replied, “I’m not sure how.”

“I wish we could do something,” Sam sighed; “I feel so fucking useless.”

“Me too,” Dean stood up and cleared the table, obviously needing to do something rather than sit waiting. Sam watched as Dean washed up the dishes, loving the way his broad shoulders moved under the thin material of his t-shirt.

‘This could be your last chance to have him. You know he won’t say no right now. You know how much he loves having your dick in his ass, your teeth on his nipples, and your hands on his skin.’

“Dean, leave the dishes,” Sam ordered and Dean wiped his wet hands on his jeans as he turned to face him. “I need you.”

“Are you alright? Is it your head? Can I…” Dean started to ask.

“Dean, I need you.” Sam emphasized the word need and Dean blushed, his mouth forming an ‘O’ of realization.

“You probably shouldn’t, with your head injury,” Dean pointed out.

“I’m fine now, and I need you. You know you need me too,” Sam coaxed as he stood up and joined Dean by the sink, pushing his body hard up against Dean. “Love you, want you, need you,” Sam whispered, kissing Dean tenderly. If this was their last time together Sam intended to make it special. Dean’s arms looped around Sam’s neck as he opened his lips and sucked Sam’s tongue.

Sam suddenly wanted to cry; this could be the last time he ever had Dean in his arms like this. If his dad killed the demon, the spell would be broken. And if the worst happened and the demon killed his dad, the demon would break the spell anyway. Dean would hate him for sure and Sam’s sorrow turned to irrational anger against Dean. He had saved Dean from The Brothel; he had loved him, protected him and cared for him. He deserved Dean’s love. He pulled away from Dean, loving the way his brother’s lips had reddened from his kiss, and the way his pupils were already lust-blown.

“Bed, now,” Sam commanded harshly, and Dean just nodded, following Sam up the stairs to their usual room.

Once in the room, Dean started to undo his jeans and Sam stopped him. “Let me,” Sam whispered, sinking to his knees and opening Dean’s jeans so that he could nuzzle his already hard dick through the fabric of his boxers. Dean groaned as Sam pushed his clothing down, letting his dick spring free, then taking it tenderly in his hands, stroking the smooth skin. Sam licked and sucked around Dean’s dick; loving the hardness beneath the silky skin, and moving back to lick the crown, tasting the pre-come that was glistening there. Dean groaned again and Sam took him in further, sucking Dean’s dick until he was panting Sam’s name and ready to come. It was at that point that Sam pulled off.

Dean whined in need and frustration, “Sammy, please,”, but Sam just grinned and pushed him down onto the bed. He tugged Dean’s boots, jeans and boxers off and dropped them onto the floor beside him.

“Not yet, Dean,” he teased as he stripped off his own clothes, “you can only come with my dick inside you.”

Dean moaned but didn’t protest, he just lay back with his legs apart, ready and waiting. Climbing onto the bed between Dean’s spread legs, Sam pushed his knees up, telling Dean to hold them apart. He leant down and licked across Dean’s hole, making it spasm, and then he slid his tongue inside, loving the filthy moans and whimpers Dean was making. Sam wanted to play with Dean for longer, but he was so turned on by the sounds Dean made that he had to have him, right now. Moving back, Sam watched Dean’s eyelids flutter as he panted harshly; then he watched as Dean’s eyes widened, his mouth gaping, as he thrust his dick inside him

It didn’t take long before Sam was almost ready to come; he just needed one more thing to push him over the edge. “Come for me, Dean,” he demanded, and Dean’s eyes grew impossibly wide as his orgasm claimed him. Without being touched, Dean’s dick shot load after load of come over his stomach, some even reaching his chest. As Dean spasmed around him, Sam came too, filling Dean with his own come. Sighing happily, Sam leaned down and licked the come from Dean’s stomach, then kissed him, letting him taste himself on Sam’s lips.

Sam was still inside Dean, wondering if he could manage round two already, when suddenly Dean’s body tensed up and he shoved Sam away, breaking their kiss.

“Get off me!” Dean screamed at him, his wide-eyed face a mask of horror.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean both suffer from the aftermath of the yellow-eyed demon's death. Bobby returns with some traumatic news about John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must apologise as this was due to be the last chapter, but it was getting very long, so I will be adding an extra chapter. And possibly a time-stamp!
> 
> Thanks again to my marvelous betas somersaultj and dizzojay, for their help, encouragement and eagle eyes!

Sam was so shocked by Dean screaming at him and shoving him away that he scrambled back, falling in a heap onto the floor. Fuck, it hurt, much more than it should.

“S-Sammy?” Dean had stopped yelling and now sounded scared. “Shit, Sam…” Dean was by his side, hauling him up so that he was resting against the bed.

Sam could taste blood, and now that he was upright he could feel it running from his nose. He hadn’t hit his nose, so why was it bleeding? His body felt like it was on fire and he tried to look at Dean but his vision was blurry.

“Oh God, you’re bleeding; why’re you bleeding?” Dean’s voice sounded muffled.

“Dean, I’m sorry,” Sam managed to say before a wave of pain hit him and he started to retch. He was puking up blood; he knew he was dying, and being punished for what he’d done.

“Shit, shit!” Sam could hear the panic in Dean’s voice and he was vaguely aware of Dean scrambling around the bedroom, muttering about a hex bag, but Sam knew this wasn’t witchcraft. Dean was back beside him, feeling his pulse and slapping his face gently. “Sammy, c’mon, stay with me; fuck, I dunno what to do!”

Sam was still puking blood and he knew he was close to passing out. His body was on felt like it was on fire; he was in agony and he was terrified.

“Bobby?” Dean’s voice cut through the pain. “Bobby, please, call me back, Sam’s sick, he’s bleeding from…from fucking everywhere; his nose, his eyes, his ears and his mouth. I dunno what to do, Bobby, please.”

Sam felt the room spinning; he knew he was dying but hearing Dean’s words made him panic. He deserved to die, he knew that, but he had to talk to Dean; he couldn’t leave him like this. Another wave of pain seized him and his body went rigid; he was aware of Dean holding him and talking softly to him as he passed out.

 

Sam didn’t expect to wake up, not ever, so when his eyes opened and he was still in the spare bedroom at Bobby’s, he was pleasantly surprised. A rough, familiar voice greeted him with “Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

Sam turned his head slowly, trying to avoid making it throb more than it already was. Bobby was sitting on a chair next to the bed, smiling at him. The older man looked exhausted and like he had aged twenty years in a matter of days.

“Bobby…” Sam croaked, his mouth as dry as the desert.

“Hold up, let’s get you sitting and get you some water,” Bobby was up on his feet and helping Sam into a sitting position. Sam’s head was throbbing and he felt nauseous, but as he sipped the water Bobby handed him, his nausea subsided. Now he was upright, he could see that he was hooked up to an IV machine and he wondered how long he’d been out of it.

“What…what happened?” Sam asked, adding, “where’s Dean? Is he okay?”

“You just relax, Sam, you lost a lot of blood,” Bobby informed him, “Dean’s resting downstairs.” Sam saw the look of concern that crossed the older guy’s face as he spoke of Dean. Sam remembered Dean screaming at him, that somehow the spell had been broken and Dean knew….Dean knew everything.

“Did he say anything, about what…what I did?” Sam asked.

Bobby frowned, scratching his head, and Sam knew he was deciding how much to tell him. “Sam, Dean hasn’t spoken a word to me,” Bobby eventually told him; “I think he’s in shock.”

“Fucking hell,” Sam sighed; he couldn’t imagine what Dean was going through.

“Don’t worry about him right now, he’s safe, he’ll be okay. How’re you doin’?”

“Okay I guess, but where’s dad?” Sam inquired, feeling a knot of dread in his stomach.

Sam knew from Bobby’s sorrowful expression it was bad news.

Sitting down, Bobby pulled the chair closer to Sam and took his hand in his own. “Sam, your dad killed the demon, that yellow-eyed bastard, but he was wounded.” Bobby’s kind eyes fixed on Sam’s like he was trying to convey comfort to him. “I’m sorry, Sam, but John didn’t make it; he died saving you and Dean from the demon.”

“No.” Sam pulled his hand away from Bobby’s and shook his head, ignoring the pain the movement caused; “no, he can’t be dead, he can’t!”

“I’m so sorry, Sam,” Bobby sighed wearily, “I was gonna wait ‘til you were stronger to tell you.”

“How did it…what happened?” Sam asked, hoping against hope that there was some mistake; his dad was just injured, not dead. Not dead. Not dead.

“Aw crap, I guess you need to know,” Bobby groaned; he looked so weary and Sam knew Bobby should be resting, but he had to know.  
“John had a replica Colt that he presented to the demon in exchange for leaving you and Dean alone,” Bobby explained. “He gave me the original and had me hide from the demon, so I could kill the bastard. As soon as the demon touched the replica, he knew; he screamed in rage at John and threw his body against the wall; I was too god-damned slow…” Bobby’s gruff voice wavered.

“Bobby, it’s okay, just carry on,” Sam coaxed.

“I shot him before he could advance on John, but it was too late. I was too fuckin’ late. John had landed on a metal pole sticking out of the ground, it pierced his chest, Sammy, and there was nothin’ I could do.” Bobby wiped the tears from his eyes before continuing; “He…he was conscious for a while, asked me if I got the bastard and smiled when I said I had. Then he told me to tell you it wasn’t your fault, none of it, and that he loved you and Dean so much…” Bobby started to cry again and it was too much for Sam; he felt hot tears run down his face.

“It should’ve been me; you should’ve let me die,” Sam muttered bitterly.

“Don’t ever say that, don’t even think it!” Bobby snapped. “Hell, boy, when I got here, I thought you an’ your brother were dead! I found you both lying on the floor, naked and covered in blood. I’ve never been so fucking scared in my life.”

“M’sorry,” Sam mumbled, feeling ashamed.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Bobby took Sam’s hand again and Sam let him; “I’m just pleased you’re both okay.”

“Does Dean know?” Sam asked, “about dad?”

Bobby shook his head sadly, “I haven’t told him, he’s not responding to anything I say to him.”

Sam started to cry, grief for his father and his brother overwhelming him.

“I’m so sorry, kid,” Bobby sobbed, pulling Sam into his arms. Sam wanted to scream, shout, howl, rip his clothes and pull his hair out. This was all wrong, this was a fucking nightmare. Bobby shouldn’t be crying, Bobby never cried. His dad shouldn’t be dead, killed by that yellow-eyed bastard. Dean shouldn’t be a fucking broken wreck, traumatized and suffering because of him.

After some time, Bobby pulled away, and helped Sam to lie back down on the bed and gave him a sheepish smile as they both wiped their eyes. He patted Sam’s hand, telling him to rest while he went to check on Dean.

Sam didn’t think he would ever sleep again but eventually exhaustion overwhelmed him and he drifted off into a troubled sleep.

 

In his dream, he was at The Brothel, just as he had been that first time. He was shown to Dean’s room and found his brother laying on his back, handcuffed to the bed posts, with his legs bent back and secured with a spreader bar. The Yellow Eyed demon was there, stroking Dean’s hair and wiping tears from his cheeks.

“Hi there Sammy-boy, we’ve been waiting for you,” the demon smirked.

Sam knew he should be disgusted, he knew he should kill the demon and save his brother, but he found himself walking forward, undoing his jeans and freeing his already hard dick. 

“Sammy, don’t, please!” Dean pleaded and Sam hesitated briefly. This wasn’t William, this was Dean and he was begging Sam not to rape him.

“What’s wrong, Sammy? Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?” the demon coaxed.

Sam looked at Dean’s tear-streaked face and his frightened eyes and thought his brother had never looked so beautiful. He stroked Dean’s spread thighs gently.

“Don’t cry, Dean, I’m here. I love you so much; I’m gonna look after you.” Sam murmured, running his fingertips around Dean’s hole, which was already gaping and ready.

“I prepped him for you, sport, you can get straight in there,” the demon announced.

Sam lined up and thrust into Dean, ignoring his screams and the demon’s gleeful laughter.

“Sam, Sam wake up!” Bobby’s voice roused him, along with a hand shaking his shoulder.

“Dean!” Sam yelled, “Dean, I’m so sorry.”

“Shush, shush, it’s just a bad dream,” Bobby stroked Sam’s shoulder, “had to wake you, you were screamin’ loud enough to wake the dead."

“Fuck…sorry, shit.” Sam rubbed his eyes and sat up.

“Here, have some water,” Bobby handed Sam a glass. “An’ you must be starving; I’ll bring you something up.”

“Bobby, wait,” Sam pleaded, “stay a while; I need to ask you some things.”

“Okay, but you need to eat something soon,” Bobby sat in the chair and regarded Sam. “What d’you wanna know?”

“How long have I been out? How did you fix me?” Sam asked, adding; “I thought I was a goner, I was puking blood.”

“You were unconscious almost twenty-four hours,” Bobby explained; “you’d lost so much blood I called a doctor friend and he came and gave you a blood infusion. He hooked you up on the IV too, and he tried to examine Dean.”

“Why did he want to examine Dean?” Sam asked, guilt weighing heavy on his heart as he thought of what the doctor may have discovered.

“I told you, Dean’s pretty unresponsive, he just sits,” Bobby elaborated; “except when the doc tried to examine him, he ran off and I found him sitting in the corner of the study, shaking like a leaf.”

“Shit, that’s not good,” Sam declared; “it’s like when I first got him from The Brothel.”

“That place is fucking evil,” Bobby growled, “I’m gonna get it shut down if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Perhaps you need to call him William,” Sam suggested.

“It might be worth a try,” Bobby sighed wearily; “he hasn’t eaten or slept since I arrived, and is still wrapped in a sheet.”

“Oh God,” Sam murmured, as his eyes filled with tears of remorse and pity. “Try…try giving him a direct order, like ‘eat, William’, and he might respond.”

“Holy crap,” Bobby muttered; “I thought he was better, that all that Brothel shit was behind him.”

“Me too,” Sam sobbed and Bobby patted his shoulder again, assuring Sam that he would feel better once he ate, then he left the room.

Sam doubted very much that eating food would help relieve the enormous burden of guilt and shame weighing on him. The only thing he could imagine that would help would be a shotgun in his hand, so he could blow his twisted fucking brains out. Then he thought of his dad’s sacrifice and of how he’d felt when Dean tried to kill himself and he knew he couldn’t do it. It was a coward’s way out, even if oblivion was preferable to facing up to what he had done. But he was a Winchester and he was not a coward.

Bobby returned with a tray loaded with soup and bread. The smell was wonderful and Sam’s stomach growled in anticipation.

“It worked, he’s dressed and eating soup right now,” Bobby informed him, obviously relieved.

Sam couldn’t share Bobby’s pleasure in this small miracle, because it meant Dean had suffered a relapse back into his William persona. Everything they had accomplished in getting Dean back had been for nothing, and the worse thing was that Dean wasn’t drugged or spellbound now, it was psychological and it was all Sam’s fault.

“Sam, hey, Sam, are you okay?” Bobby asked in concern and Sam realized he had been speaking to him, and was still holding the tray waiting for Sam’s attention.

“Yeah, sorry, just thinking about Dean,” Sam faked a smile and accepted the tray from the older man. The smell that had been so appetizing now turned his stomach, but he managed a few spoonfuls and ate most of the bread under Bobby’s watchful eye.

Bobby hadn’t spoken while Sam ate but when he finished he said, “you’re doing great, Sam; I think we can get rid of the drip and get you showered.”

“That sounds good.” Sam sighed; his skin felt itchy and he guessed Bobby had cleaned off as much blood as he could but a shower was in order. Sam blushed as he thought of Bobby seeing him and Dean naked, and he realized he still didn’t know what had happened to him. 

“Bobby, did the doc say what caused it? I mean the blood, I can’t think of an explanation, not a natural one anyway.”

Bobby looked uncomfortable and stood up, taking Sam’s tray away from him and putting it on the floor. Sam knew he was playing for time. “Well, I have a theory,” Bobby sat back down and sighed wearily; “the doc was at a loss, but I think that somehow you had some of the demon’s blood inside you, and when he died your body rejected it.”

Sam stared at Bobby in horror. “How…how could that even be possible? I’d never even seen the demon until recently, and he didn’t give me any of his blood.”

“The night your mother died, John found the demon in your room, standing over your cot,” Bobby explained, his eyes full of compassion; “your daddy thought the demon had hurt you, there was blood on your chin…”

“No, no, God…” Sam’s head span and as much as he wanted to deny it, he knew it was true. He realized it was why the demon had been so interested in him, why he said Sam was special, chosen. And he’d come for Sam that day, but his mom had got in the way. “Mom,” Sam sobbed, “he killed mom ‘cause of me.”

“Sam, you were six months old, there’s no way this was your fault!” Bobby admonished him, pausing briefly as his cell phone beeped. He glanced at it and Sam saw a flicker of relief cross his face. “Sorry, I gotta take this, it’s Pastor Jim.” 

Sam watched Bobby leave the room and heard him talking quietly on the phone. He was stunned; it was all too much to take in. Dean’s reaction to the spell breaking, their dad’s death, and now knowing that all these years he had been walking around with demon blood coursing through his veins. Sam’s tears turned from sorrow to anger. The demon was behind all of it, his mom’s death, his violation of Dean, his dad’s death. Sam pulled the IV drip from his hand and swung his legs down onto the floor. He was done feeling sorry for himself. His dad had died to save him and Dean from the demon and he was going to honor his memory by killing every fucking demon that walked the earth. If he could he would march into hell and slaughter as many as he could.

Above all, right now, he had to get the blood off of his skin; he had to remove the last of the taint from his body. He knew he would never be able to remove it from his mind.

Sam‘s first attempt at standing proved to be unsuccessful, as his legs buckled and he collapsed back down onto the mattress. Taking some deep breaths, he tried again, holding onto the bedside cabinet for support. Once upright, he moved on shaky legs across the room, holding onto the furniture or the wall, and finally made it to the door. Bobby was still talking but his back was turned and he didn’t see Sam.

Sam staggered along to the bathroom and stripped off the t-shirt and boxer shorts he was wearing, feeling sick when he saw traces of blood still on his skin. He ran the shower as hot as he could stand it and stood there until his legs gave way and he sank down onto his knees, his head resting against the tiles. He had to get clean, he had to. He had so much to atone for. He had to make his life count for something. He had to become the best fucking hunter there ever was.

He was still kneeling under the shower when Bobby found him. Turning the water off, he draped a huge towel around Sam’s shoulders.

“You should have waited,” Bobby scolded him gently; “You could have fallen.”

“H-had to get clean, had to wash it off…” Sam stammered, his teeth chattering as the cold air of the bathroom chilled his warm skin.

“It’s okay, kid, I get it,” Bobby replied, steering Sam back into the bedroom by the elbow, helping him to walk almost steadily. Bobby found some clean clothes for Sam and left while he got dressed. It took what seemed like an age to put on the underpants, jeans, socks, t-shirt and over-shirt, as he couldn’t stand up for long. Once he was dressed he felt slightly better and was relieved to find that his legs were less shaky when he left the bedroom.

Bobby was waiting outside in the corridor, offering Sam his arm to lean on, which Sam accepted gratefully. “Are you feeling strong enough to get downstairs?” he asked and Sam hesitated. He wanted to see Dean, but he was worried about how Dean would react to him.

“Um, I don’t know,” Sam looked towards the stairs as he deliberated. His need to see Dean eventually won over his anxiety and he nodded,“Yep, I’m good.”

They made their way slowly down the stairs, Sam’s head still throbbing and his legs as wobbly as a newborn foal. Dean was sitting at the kitchen table, his bowl of soup empty and only crumbs left of the bread. He didn’t look up when they entered the kitchen, his eyes were downcast, and his hands folded neatly in his lap. He looked almost serene but Sam could see his right leg jerking up and down, a sure sign that he was distressed.

“Dean,” Sam called from the doorway. Dean’s back stiffened and his leg jerked faster but he didn’t look round. “Dean, please look at me.” Sam added, hoping to avoid having to speak to ‘William’.

Bobby gestured for Sam to wait by the doorway and then he cautiously approached Dean.

“Dean, it’s me, Bobby, you know me,” Bobby murmured, keeping his voice low and soft. Dean didn’t move, not even when Bobby pulled a chair round and sat next to him. He sighed and added, “William, look at me.”

Dean’s head moved slowly around to face Bobby and from that angle he could see Sam in the doorway. As Dean’s eyes widened in fear, his whole body started to tremble and Sam wanted to stride across the room, take Dean in his arms and comfort him, but he knew he could no longer do that.

“Sammy,” Dean whispered; “no, no, no…” He started to rock in distress and Sam couldn’t bear to see Dean reduced to this quivering wreck again, knowing it was because of him.

“I should go…” Sam stated, starting to move away from the door.

“Hold up,” Bobby demanded; “I think Dean needs to know you’re okay, and that you won’t hurt him.”

Sam wondered briefly how much Bobby knew or had surmised about the effect of the demon blood on his behavior. Sam wished he could blame it all on the demon-blood but looking at Dean now he felt guilt, shame and, God help him, lust.

“He’s scared, I don’t wanna make it worse,” Sam replied, but he didn’t move away.

“Dean,” Bobby addressed him now, “listen to me, kid; you’re safe now and Sam’s safe. That demon bastard that hurt you both is dead. D’you understand me?”

Dean nodded and glanced over at Sam, still looking terrified.

“Sam wanted to see you, ‘cause he’s worried about you,” Bobby continued, and Sam was so grateful that Bobby was with them, speaking to Dean in a reassuring combination of firmness and kindness that seemed to be getting through.

Dean looked at Sam again and his eyes filled with tears. “Sammy…I-I thought you were dead.”

“I’m okay,” Sam reassured him. “Thanks for staying with me, Dean. Can I, um, can I sit down? My legs are a bit wobbly.”

Dean nodded but he flinched as Sam approached the table to sit at the end next to Bobby, moving his body as far away from Sam as he could. Sam couldn’t blame Dean for being so scared of him but it still hurt.

“How are you doing?” Sam asked gently. “Bobby says you haven’t slept, you must be tired.” Dean’s head was bowed but Sam saw his bottom lip tremble.

“Can’t sleep,” Dean whispered, wiping his eyes with his fingers.

“I’m gonna make some coffee, you boys want some?” Bobby announced, moving his chair back.

Dean grabbed Bobby’s wrist in panic and Bobby patted his hand. “I’ll be right here, Dean, just over at the counter, okay?” Dean looked from Bobby to Sam and nodded. As Bobby moved away from the table, Dean’s head bowed again; his body wasn’t trembling any longer but his right leg still jiggled nervously.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam murmured; “I won’t hurt you, I promise. The things I did to you…” he paused to take a deep breath, noticing the tears silently running down Dean’s cheeks, but managing to continue, “what I did to you was unforgiveable, I’m so sorry. The demon wanted me to hurt you, but I should’ve been stronger, I should’ve protected you.”

Dean put his head in his hands, his body shaking as he sobbed. Sam looked over at Bobby, who nodded and walked back over to Dean, kneeling beside him.

“Dean, it’s alright, you don’t need to be afraid anymore,” Bobby reassured him, putting his hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean jerked away from the gentle touch and pushed himself up onto his feet.

“Don’t touch me,” Dean screamed, “leave me alone, leave me alone!”

With that, he ran out of the room and Sam stood to follow him.

“Leave him be, Sam,” Bobby advised.

“Last time we let him run off, he slit his fucking wrist!” Sam snarled; “I gotta find him.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Bobby stood up wearily. He looked exhausted.

“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have sworn at you,” Sam sighed; “look, you haven’t slept either. I’ll deal with Dean and you can get some rest.”

“Okay, but I won’t be able to rest until I know he’s alright,” Bobby replied.

They found Dean curled up on his side on the floor in Bobby’s study. He was in the darkest corner and hid his head in his arms as he heard them approach.

“Dean,” Sam murmured, “hey, it’s okay, we’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want, but I needed to know you were safe.”

Dean didn’t respond, but he didn’t look like he was going to move from his corner, so Sam pulled an old rug off the back of the desk chair and draped it gently over him. Dean trembled at first, then gave a sigh and pulled the rug over his shoulder.

“Let’s leave him, he seems settled,” Bobby whispered to Sam.

Sam nodded and they left Dean curled up under the rug. Bobby went to lie down on the couch and Sam sat in the kitchen, drinking coffee. He checked on Dean after twenty minutes and was relieved to find him fast asleep. He would have liked to move Dean somewhere more comfortable, but didn’t want to disturb him. 

Sam paced the kitchen, drank more coffee and checked Dean every twenty minutes or so. His mind was a whirlwind of grief, despair, guilt and shame. It was almost unreal that his dad was dead; on top of what had happened between him and Dean, he was having major trouble comprehending it. Suddenly, he realized he didn’t know where his dad was, he hadn’t thought to ask Bobby in all the turmoil of the last few hours.

Bobby appeared in the kitchen doorway, almost as if Sam’s thoughts about his dad had summoned him. He looked grey and old; his short rest had done little to help him.

“Bobby, where…where is he?” Sam blurted out; “where’s my dad?”

“Your daddy’s in the back of my truck.” Bobby sighed; “Pastor Jim’s coming over soon so we can give him a proper hunter’s funeral.”

“Oh fuck,” Sam groaned as his knees gave way. He managed to keep upright by grabbing onto the table. Then Bobby was right next to him helping him sit down.

“Damn, I wish I could do somethin’ to help you, boy,” Bobby grumbled, his concern showing in his careworn face.

“You-you’re helping Bobby, just being here,” Sam replied. It was true, Sam had no idea how he would cope at all without the reassuring presence of the older man who was like a second father to him and Dean.

The sound of a car engine made them both startle. The house had been so quiet, the kind of solemn quietness that only ever seemed to accompany bereavement.

“It’s Jim, I guess,” Bobby rubbed his face and straightened his shoulders. “You should check on Dean while I go see Jim.”

Sam nodded and followed Bobby out of the room, heading to the study as Bobby made his way to the front door. Dean was still in the corner of the room but he was sitting up now, his knees tucked under his chin and his face resting on his hands that were clasped over his knees.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam said gently, “are you okay? Do you need anything? A drink, food…”

Dean raised his head and his eyes met Sam’s, making Sam gasp, as they looked so haunted, so sad, yet so angry too.

“I don’t w-want anything f-from you,” he replied, his voice shaking; “leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry Dean, I need you to know how sorry…” Sam began.

“No,” Dean hissed; “I don’t…I can’t…just…just fuck the hell off!”

Sam backed away from his brother, sensing that there was no point trying to speak to Dean right now, he was too upset, they both were. He was slightly relieved that Dean was responsive, even anger was better than him reverting to ‘William’. He heard Bobby talking to Pastor Jim outside and once again he was so grateful that Bobby was here.

“Sam, crap, are you okay?” Bobby asked in concern when he saw the stricken look on Sam’s face; “Is it Dean, is he alright?”

“He-he told me to fuck off!” Sam giggled, and then started laughing, although nothing was remotely funny. He couldn’t stop until Bobby gripped his shoulders and shook him.

“Sam, stop it, c’mon kid, don’t go crackin’ up on me,” Bobby pleaded and Sam’s hysteria ended as abruptly as it had started.

“S-sorry, Bobby…Pastor Jim,” Sam mumbled, wiping his eyes to try to keep the tears at bay.

“Sam, my condolences,” Pastor Jim offered sincerely; “John will be sadly missed.”

“Thanks, yeah,” Sam replied, swaying slightly on his feet. He didn’t want to break down, cry, faint or collapse but he knew he was close to one if not all of those possibilities.

“Let’s get you sat down,” Pastor Jim suggested, taking Sam’s elbow firmly and guiding him through to sit on Bobby’s scruffy but comfy old couch. Sitting down next to Sam, he talked soothingly to him although Sam couldn’t make out the words.

Bobby appeared with a bottle of whisky and three small glasses, handing two to Pastor Jim. He filled them both up before filling his own and sitting down.

Sam grasped the glass and he lifted it automatically to his lips, coughing and gasping as the fiery liquid hit his throat. Jim patted him on the back and Sam croaked his thanks. The whisky had done the trick and helped his muddled mind to focus.

“Here’s to John Winchester,” Bobby lifted his glass in salute; “he was a good father, a great hunter, a good friend and a huge pain in the ass.”

“To John,” Pastor Jim responded.

Sam lifted his glass and managed to add, “To dad.” They sipped their drinks silently for a moment, and then Bobby shifted forward to speak.  
“We need to make preparations, Sam, for-for your daddy,” he gently informed him, “and I need to know if you want to see him, before…”

“Before he burns,” Sam muttered bitterly. “This can’t be real; it wasn’t supposed to be like this!”

“I’m sorry, Sam, I know how hard this is,” Pastor Jim stated kindly.

“You have no fucking idea!” Sam yelled, knowing he was being rude and unreasonable but unable to stop; “you don’t know what I’ve done! You can never know how fucking hard this is! It should be me who’s dead, not dad!”

Sam had got to his feet in his anger, dropping his glass to the floor. It didn’t break but the whisky spilled over the rug.

“Sam, calm the fuck down!” Bobby growled at him. “I know you’re hurtin’ but…”

“Bobby?” Dean’s voice made them all look over to the doorway. He stood there, pale and trembling; Sam wished he could wrap him in his arms and kiss away his pain.

“Shit, Dean,” Bobby muttered, standing up and heading slowly towards him.

“What-what’s happened? I heard shouting…” Dean looked around the room and said the words Sam had been dreading to hear – “where’s dad?”

“Dean, come and sit down,” Bobby coaxed, reaching his hand towards Dean, who backed away and leaned against the door frame, breathing heavily.

“No, not until you tell me…” Dean stared at Bobby, shaking his head as he realized why they all looked so sad, why Pastor Jim was here. He slid down the door frame like his legs had become boneless and looked like he was about to pass out.

Bobby knelt down beside him and opened his arms. To Sam’s surprise, and probably Bobby’s, Dean leaned into his sturdy chest, letting the older man hug him. Dean wasn’t crying, but his body was shaking and he was making a whimpering noise. Hugging him and rocking him, Bobby murmured words of comfort until Dean’s body went lax in his arms.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After John's funeral, both Sam and Dean struggle to cope with their grief. Bobby does his best to support the brothers. Sam and Dean try to talk about what happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the last chapter! I couldn’t quite say goodbye to this story though, so an epilogue will follow soon. Thanks everyone who has followed this story and commented. Massive thanks to my fantastic betas dizzojay and somersault_j, for all their help and support.
> 
> NB I do not own the characters of Sam and Dean or any others mentioned. I will not make any profit from this story.

Sam was frozen on the spot as he watched Bobby trying to console Dean; Pastor Jim moved over, ready to help.

“Crap, poor kid’s passed out,” Bobby muttered. As Pastor Jim helped him lift Dean gently from the floor, Sam was finally able to move, putting his long arms under his brother’s body, with Bobby holding his head and Jim his feet. They carried Dean over to the couch and laid him down; Bobby covered him with a blanket.

“You should get some rest too, Sam,” Pastor Jim suggested, “I’ll help Bobby.”

“No, I want to help,” Sam replied. “I-I need to see him.”

Pastor Jim and Bobby lifted John’s body from the truck and laid him gently on a blanket Bobby had spread on the ground beside the truck. This time Sam couldn’t bring himself to help, his body frozen once more. John was shrouded with several sheets, but Bobby quickly uncovered his head, and Sam stared in wonder. His dad looked so peaceful, as if he was just sleeping. He looked younger too, like all the weight he had carried around in the long years since Mary’s death had been lifted. Sam felt irrationally jealous of him, wishing he too could just close his eyes and never wake up.

“We’ll give you a few minutes,” Bobby told him, patting his shoulder before moving away.

Sam sank to his knees and touched his dad’s face tenderly. He was used to death; he had seen more dead bodies than anyone his age ever should have, but this, this was different. John’s skin was dry and cold to the touch. His fingers moved down John’s face, tracing his salt and pepper beard; it was silky, smoother than he thought it would be. Then he touched his dad’s lips, his eyelids, his cheeks. It was almost as if he needed to ensure that he was really dead.

He could almost imagine his dad’s eyes blinking open and him uttering indignantly “what the hell you doin’?” The lack of any response made Sam sigh; it was expected, but it was so final.

“Dad, I’m sorry, sorry for everything,” Sam whispered; “for the things I did to Dean; for the people I killed; for…for being so fucking weak and letting that demon use me,” he shuddered at his own words; “but I swear to God I’m going to spend the rest of my life making up for it all, dad. I’m gonna hunt every demon, every evil son-of-a-bitch out there and I’m gonna stop other families suffering like we have. I promise, dad.”

Sam leaned down and kissed his dad’s cheek. Rubbing tears from his face with his hands, he stood up to look for Bobby and saw him sitting on the porch steps, talking quietly with Pastor Jim. Bobby rose to his feet when he saw Sam and they nodded to each other. Sam had said his goodbye; he had made his promise.

“Are we gonna wait for Dean?” he asked Bobby a little while later. They were piling up wood in a far corner of the salvage yard, well away from any of the wrecked cars. Pastor Jim was watching over Dean back at the house.

“Yeah, we’ll get it all ready before we fetch him.” Bobby replied. “It’s gonna be so fuckin’ hard for him, but he deserves the chance to say goodbye.”

Sam nodded, not meeting Bobby’s eyes, as he didn’t want his tears to be seen. He needed to hold it together; there would be time enough for tears later. His aching body complained as he continued lifting logs and heaping them onto the pyre, but together with Bobby, he soon completed the unpleasant task and returned to the house.

Sam really needed a shower but he had to check on Dean first. He followed Bobby through to the kitchen where they found Dean and Pastor Jim sitting talking quietly at the table. Dean had been crying, although he looked calm now; but as he looked up at Sam he actually flinched, making Sam’s heart feel like it had been punched by an iron-clad fist. Dean’s eyes quickly dropped from Sam’s face to stare at the table.

“How ya doin’, kid?” Bobby asked Dean gruffly, his tired face showing his concern.

Dean squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and faced Bobby. Sam could see how hard Dean was trying to maintain his fragile self-control, and he had never been more proud of his big brother in his life than he was at this moment.

“Better, I guess,” Dean responded, “but I can’t fucking believe it Bobby; I just can’t wrap my head around it.”

“You an’ me both,” Bobby sighed and sat down heavily on one of the chairs. Sam stood by the door, unsure of his welcome, guessing that he was the last person Dean wanted to be around right now.

“So, I, um, I’m gonna go shower,” Sam announced awkwardly; “Can I get you guys some beers or coffee, or anything before I go?”

“I’d appreciate a beer, Sam,” Bobby replied with a tense smile; “I’m sure Dean an’ Jim would too.”

Dean was staring at the table once again and didn’t respond, but Pastor Jim gave him a sympathetic smile and a brief nod. The Pastor was trying to be kind, but Sam knew he didn’t deserve anyone’s sympathy or kindness. He was a murderer, a rapist, a fucking monster. He’d abused his brother and called it love. He’d let his dad go off and face the demon without him, getting him killed.

“Sam,” Bobby’s voice broke into his spiral of self-loathing, “you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, just…” Sam shrugged and didn’t finish the sentence, he didn’t need to. Both Bobby and Pastor Jim understood how hard this was for him; he had not only lost his father, but he also blamed himself for it, and for so much more.

Sam took three beers out of the fridge; the only sound in the kitchen was the tinkle of the bottles held in his shaking hands. He placed them on the table then almost ran from the room, aware that Bobby and Pastor Jim were speaking but needing to escape too urgently to stop.

He hurried to the shower, undressed quickly and stood under the spray, hardly aware of the cold water hitting his face. His heart was racing and his head pounding; he wanted to run away, leave his brother, Bobby and Pastor Jim with the task of saying goodbye to John. He couldn’t face the sadness and recrimination in Dean’s eyes; he didn’t deserve the understanding in Bobby’s eyes or the compassion in Pastor Jim’s.

Stepping from the shower, he grabbed a towel and caught sight of his wretched face in the steamy mirror. He looked like shit and he knew right then that there was no running away from what he had done. He also knew that there was no way Dean could hate him for what he’d done or blame him for their dad’s death any more deeply than he already hated and blamed himself.

 

It was early evening when the four of them gathered around the heaped wood that cradled John’s body. Pastor Jim was talking, saying good things about John, but Sam couldn’t hear them over a noise like rushing water that filled his head. He couldn’t look anywhere but at the shrouded figure of his father, and, as Bobby set the flames, he stared so long and so hard at them that his eyes were sore and smarting. 

Despite that, he couldn’t actually cry; he was too numb. He glanced up to check on Dean and he was doing the same as Sam, staring at the body being consumed by fire, staring at the corpse that used to be their larger-than-life father.

Dean was crying though, tears were streaming down his face, his breath coming out in sobs. Sam envied him at that moment - perhaps if he could cry the numbness would lessen.

Bobby was next to him, placing an arm around his shoulders and talking but Sam couldn’t hear him. Shaking him gently, Bobby spoke some more but eventually moved away, leaving Sam and his numb body, numb soul and numb mind, to stare at the flames. Sam wasn’t sure how long he had stood there, but when a voice finally got through to him it was dark, and it was Dean’s voice.

“Sammy,” Dean’s voice was raspy and raw, but Sam heard it. He turned to face his brother and was enveloped in Dean’s arms, pulled against his chest, and Dean was sobbing into his neck. Sam patted Dean’s back and whispered platitudes to him, but he still couldn’t cry.

Bobby and Pastor Jim had left, giving the brothers some privacy. They came back some time later with blankets and gently parted them. They wrapped both of them in the blankets and led them back to the house. Dean had stopped crying and Sam had a sudden stupid thought that they were both dead too, just mindless zombies being moved around by the living. Dean had died long ago at the hands of his abusers in The Brothel, and Sam had died there too, the very moment he had looked at Dean’s lips and given into his hidden, dark desires.

Sam’s numbness slowly abated as the whisky Bobby had handed him slid down his throat and he was aware that they were now all sitting around the kitchen table once more. Dean was still wrapped in a blanket, and was looking as lost and empty as Sam felt. 

“You boys should eat,” Bobby announced, breaking the silence. “I got some chili I can heat up, how’s that sound?”

Sam was about to snarl that he wasn’t fucking hungry but realized how ungracious that would have been. He knew Bobby was hurting too, that the older man was grieving for John and, at the same time, worrying about Sam and Dean.

“That would be great, thanks, Bobby,” he managed to say sincerely.

“I’ll give you a hand,” Pastor Jim offered, leaving Sam and Dean to their thoughts.

Dean hadn’t actually spoken to Sam, apart from saying his name before he hugged him. Sam didn’t know what to say, he was so afraid of saying anything that might upset or frighten Dean. As they sat staring at each other, Bobby and Pastor Jim busied themselves heating up the food and getting the crockery out.

“It’s my fault,” Dean whispered after a few minutes.

“What?” Sam asked, incredulously. There was no way Dean could really be blaming himself for John’s death, but of course, being Dean, he could and he was.

“I was so fucking stupid, getting caught, getting sent to…to that place.” Dean continued; “if I’d been with him, if I’d been a better son, a better hunter, I could’ve helped him, could’ve saved him.” Dean’s voice was louder now, shaking with remorse and grief. “I should’ve saved him. He always said I was too reckless, too god-damned cocky and he was right.”

“Dean, no, none of this is your fault!” Sam protested, unable to believe his ears. “We failed you Dean, me and dad, we should have found you. Then you would have still been hunting, perhaps you could have saved him…”

“Boys, that’s enough.” Bobby sighed wearily as he placed the chili pot on the table. “There ain’t no point playing the blame game.”

“Bobby’s right,” Pastor Jim agreed; “there’s only one creature responsible for John’s death and that’s the yellow-eyed demon. It’s only natural to place blame on your own shoulders and think what if, but it was the demon that killed your father. It wasn’t your fault, Dean, or yours, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes filled with tears and the floodgates that had been held back by his earlier numbness now opened. He stood up, muttering apologies and headed outside, staggering a little as his tears blinded him. No one followed him and he was grateful for that. He needed some time alone to ‘process’ – that’s what he had heard it called before. Like anyone could really ‘process’ grief, like it could possibly have a beginning, middle and end.

All Sam knew was that no matter what Pastor Jim or anyone else said, it was his fault his dad was dead. He would live with that, and the things he had done to Dean - and the things he had claimed he had done for Dean - for the rest of his miserable life.

The door creaked open and a figure halted next to him. Sam knew without looking that it was Dean; he knew Dean’s smell, his footsteps, his breathing. They stood in silence for a while, looking out at the dark yard.

Dean sighed as he dropped down to sit on the top step of the porch, and patted the space next to him. Sam took it as an invitation and sat down too, careful to leave a gap between them.

“They’re right; you know that, don’t you?” Dean said, breaking the silence.

“I know the demon killed dad,” Sam responded; “but I also know I should’ve been there. I should’ve….” He was about to say ‘died’ but hesitated, not wanting to burden Dean.

Dean didn’t wait for him to continue, asking, “so, w-what are you gonna do now?”

“I’m gonna hunt,” Sam replied, wondering if Dean was asking because he didn’t want Sam to leave or because he couldn’t wait to see the back of him. “I’m gonna save as many people as I can. I’m gonna carry on dad’s work.”

“Sammy, the hunter,” Dean murmured; “I never thought that would happen.”

“I need to…” Sam turned his head to look at Dean. He could see Dean’s profile in the porch light; he was still staring out into the darkness. “I need to try to make up for what I’ve done…to you.”

“Don’t, please,” Dean whispered, “I can’t…can’t talk about it, not…not now, not ever.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam reached out to touch Dean, to reassure him, but Dean scrambled to his feet.

“I’m tired; I-I’m gonna take the couch,” Dean muttered. Sam was confused – Dean had hugged him earlier, had held him in his arms and had cried into his neck - now he was clambering away from Sam’s touch. He wasn’t really surprised that Dean elected to avoid sleeping in the same room, but he just wanted his big brother with him now.

“Dean, l need you,” Sam pleaded as he stood, watching Dean bow his head and pausing by the door; “you’re my big brother; you’re all I got now. You and Bobby.”

Dean opened the door and walked back inside, leaving Sam alone to sit back down and cry himself to sleep. He woke up sometime later when Bobby found him curled on his side at the top of the porch steps.

“C’mon kid, you can’t stay out here,” he coaxed Sam up and back into the house.

“I don’t deserve Dean, don’t deserve you,” Sam protested; “you’re too good to me.”

“Quit yer whinin’ and get yerself up to bed,” Bobby grumbled, adding more kindly; “things will seem better in the morning, Sam.”

 

Nothing seemed better to Sam in the morning. Dean looked as sick with grief as he was, and Sam wanted to wrap him in his arms and kiss away the hurt. Pastor Jim left after breakfast as he had to get back to work, and Sam was tempted to leave then, too.

By mid-morning, Dean was out in the yard stripping down an old Ford, and Bobby was busy on the phone helping another hunter. Sam tidied up the kitchen and then flicked through some dusty old books from Bobby’s collection, but he couldn’t settle to anything.

He made a pot of coffee, took a cup through to Bobby who nodded his thanks while listening intently to the hunter at the other end of the line. He took a cup outside to Dean, knowing it was an excuse to see him and perhaps talk to him.

Dean’s head was under the bonnet of the car, and he was cursing about “the fucking useless piece of crap”. Sam knew he should announce himself, but he was distracted at how Dean’s perfect butt filled his jeans as he bent over and the way it moved as he worked. Sam had seen that perfect butt naked, he had kissed it, licked it, slapped it, fucked it…

“Holy crap!” Dean cursed even louder and stood upright, holding out his left hand, blood dripping from a large cut on his thumb.

“You okay?” Sam asked in concern.

“Shit!” Dean shrieked, and in other circumstances Sam might have teased him for sounding like a girl.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” Sam apologized as Dean wrapped an oily rag around his thumb and glared at him. If his butt had been distracting, the rest of him was even more so. He had smudges of grease on his forehead and cheek; his bare arms were dirty and covered in a sheen of sweat. His tight-fitting grey t-shirt was clinging to his chest, which was heaving from a mixture of shock and pain.

“What do you want?” Dean asked coolly.

“I, um, I thought you’d like a coffee,” Sam explained.

“You can leave it there.” Dean gestured to an old crate next to the car that had some tools lying on it.

“Oh, okay,” Sam put the coffee down; “you should clean that cut…”

“I know how to take care of a little cut,” Dean snarled.

“I know you do. I was just…” Sam started to explain.

“What do you want?” Dean repeated, still glaring at Sam.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Sam replied, knowing how lame it sounded.

“Am I okay?” Dean asked, like he was considering the question seriously. “Am I okay?” he yelled this time, “what the fuck do you think? My dad’s dead, I lost three years of my life to a…a fucking brothel, but my brother rescued me; I was drugged outta my mind, then once I started to recover he put me under a spell so he could…he could fuck me.” Dean had edged closer to him as he ranted, adding; “so, yeah, Sammy, I’m okay. I’m fan-fucking-tastic!”

Sam’s head swam as Dean’s words hit him like a physical blow. He knew it was lame but he tried to apologize, “I’m so…”

“Don’t,” Dean screamed at him. “Sorry don’t mean shit! It’s…it’s your fault dad’s dead, you selfish bastard!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Sam retorted.

“We should have been with him,” Dean yelled, “but you were too busy f-fucking me…”

“Dean, just let me…” Sam pleaded, tears running down his face now.

“Just fuck off and leave me the hell alone!” Dean roared, his handsome face contorted in rage.

Sam backed away, then turned and headed back to the house. Running straight upstairs he began to stuff his clothes into his duffel bag, barely able see through the blinding tears. He just knew he had to get away.

“Didn’t think you were a coward, boy,” Bobby growled from the doorway.

“Dean doesn’t want me here,” Sam sighed, wiping his tears with an old t-shirt; “I don’t blame him; he’s better off without me.”

“Dean’s hurtin’, we all are,” Bobby responded, “but he needs you around right now, even if it’s only to have someone to yell at.”

“You heard him then?” Sam asked; “he told me to go and that’s what I’m doing.”

“Dean didn’t mean it, he’s grievin’.” Bobby paused and stared at Sam; “an’ he’s pissed at you for messin’ with his head.”

Sam felt the color drain from his face – how much did Bobby know? How much had he worked out?

“So it’s true?” Bobby’s face drained of color too and he leaned against the door-frame; “the demon said – he said things. I thought he was yankin’ your pa’s chain but…”

“Now you know why I have to go, Bobby,” Sam whispered, feeling so ashamed that he was unable to look at Bobby.

“More reason why you should stay an’ face up to it,” Bobby replied; “I know the demon was to blame, Sam, that he was poisonin’ you. You need to speak to Dean, you can’t leave like this.”

Sam sat down on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. He nodded and murmured his thanks to Bobby, then heard his footsteps fade away as Bobby left him to be alone. Sam knew he would need to get used to being alone, but it didn’t mean he would ever like it. He finished packing and pulled out his laptop, searching for a job somewhere far away from Sioux Falls.

He spent most of the afternoon on his laptop, finding a possible poltergeist case in Jefferson City and cattle mutilations near Boise, Idaho. He opted for the poltergeist and did more research on the case and on ways to deal with poltergeists. He had never hunted solo and wanted to be prepared for what he would be dealing with. He had always been good at research, even enjoyed it.

His stomach started to rumble about the same time the delicious smell of bacon cooking wafted up the stairs. He realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast and headed downstairs, dreading facing both Dean and Bobby, now that the older hunter knew what he had done.

Bobby gave him a grim smile as he ventured into the kitchen, saying, “Dean’s washing up, he’ll be down soon.”

“Okay,” Sam glanced around the kitchen; Bobby had laid up the table for three and was cooking bacon, eggs, hash browns and fried tomatoes. “D’you need a hand?” he offered.

“Nah, nearly ready. Now sit down an’ stop lookin’ like a kicked puppy,” Bobby replied, as he carried on cooking, turning his back to Sam.

Sam did as he was told and before he could think of something to say to fill the awkward silence he heard Dean coming downstairs. Straightening up, he swallowed nervously, unsure of how Dean would react to him.

“Sammy,” Dean nodded in greeting, but he didn’t smile at him.

“Hey Dean,” Sam managed to reply.

“Smells good, Bobby,” Dean smiled at the older hunter as he headed to the fridge and pulled out three beers.

“Well, it ain’t no gourmet meal, but it will fill your growlin’ stomach up!” Bobby teased.

Dean sat down opposite Sam as he placed the beers on the table. Sam was at a complete loss as to what to say as silence descended again.

“Thought you might have taken me seriously,” Dean mumbled after a few minutes.

“Um, I nearly did, Bobby talked me round,” Sam responded. He reached for his beer, more to keep his hands busy peeling off the label than to drink it.

“That’s good. I know you won’t be sticking around, but you don’t need to rush off, not ‘cause of what I said.” Dean informed him and Sam felt a tiny part of the weight he carried leave his shoulders.

They ate in silence apart from toasting John’s memory with their beers and Bobby left them to clean up the kitchen when they had all eaten their fill. Sam washed the dishes while Dean cleaned the table and worktops. When they had finished, to Sam’s surprise, Dean took two more beers from the fridge and sat back down.

“I think we need to talk, Sam,” he announced.

Sam nodded and sat down opposite Dean. “I know,” he agreed.

“It’s all been a nightmare an’ I keep wishing I could wake the hell up,” Dean admitted ruefully, “please, Sammy, please tell me dad didn’t know.”

Sam was momentarily shocked; he knew what Dean meant - of course he did - but of all the things they had to cover, this wasn’t what he expected. He shook his head. “I think he suspected I was doing something to control you, he never knew exactly what I was doing,” he muttered, unable to look at Dean. He wasn’t going to add that the demon had oh-so-helpfully filled John in with the details.

“Well that’s something,” Dean sighed; “I would’ve hated for him to have…to have died knowing what you did to me; hell, it was bad enough that he knew I’d been at that place for years.”

“Dad would never have thought any less of you,” Sam reassured him. “You weren’t to blame for anything that happened.”

“I know; but I would have thought less of me if he knew,” Dean said quietly.

Sam longed to comfort Dean, to hold him and care for him; knowing that he could never do those things again, not even as a brother, made him start to cry. He bowed his head, covering his face with his hands.

“Look at me,” Dean pleaded. Sam couldn’t raise his head, he couldn’t bear to look into Dean’s eyes and see the hurt there. Even worse, he couldn’t bear for Dean to see the guilt in his own eyes. “Sammy, please, please look at me. Tell me it wasn’t you. Tell me it was the demon blood and that it wasn’t you.”

Sam couldn’t stop the tremors that seized his body and he wanted to run out of the room, out of the house, out of Sioux Falls and never come back. He was a sick fucker, a pervert and a monster, but he wasn’t going to be a coward too. He raised his head and Dean gasped in shock at what he saw in his eyes.

Sam was crying and shaking his head; “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed.

“No, no, you wouldn’t….you wouldn’t...” Dean wailed.

“Dean, I’ll never hurt you again, I swear to you,” Sam vowed; “and I wish I could say what I did was all because of the demon blood, but it’s not true.”

“The things you did…you wanted…” Dean shook his head in disbelief.

“Yes, I did,” Sam replied, needing him to understand. “I’ve loved you all of my life, Dean, but the last few years before I left for Stanford I knew the way I felt about you was wrong. That I was sick..”

“You never said…I didn’t know, fuck,” Dean sighed; “is that… was it my fault you left?”

“Christ, Dean, what the hell?” Sam yelled and hated himself as Dean flinched back; “shit, don’t be scared of me; just stop taking the blame for everything. “

They stared at each other for a while. Dean was wide-eyed and pale, his expressive face revealing his warring emotions and Sam saw fear, shame, confusion, guilt and disgust flicker across his brother’s face in that moment. Sam’s heart was beating so fast and his breathing was so labored that he thought he might pass out at any minute and face-plant onto the table.

“Do you…do you still feel the same?” Dean whispered, his eyes pleading with Sam to tell him no; he was over it.

“I do; I hate myself but I can’t help the way I feel about you,” Sam replied, tears running down his face again. “I wish I didn’t, I wish I could love you just as my brother, I-I wish I didn’t want more.”

“Oh God,” Dean’s already pale face turned whiter still and his eyes were huge, staring at Sam in horror and pity; “but…but you were happy with Jess, you were engaged!”

“I tried to make it work with Jess, Dean, I really did,” Sam confessed’ “but I never loved her the way I love you.”

“I can’t, Sammy, I don’t…” Dean rubbed his face with his hands before standing up; “I need some air.”

Dean got up so quickly that his chair toppled over as he ran from the room and out of the house, the front door banging behind him.  
Sam sat for a moment longer, his mind drawing a blank as to what to do next. He decided to go after Dean, Bobby joining him as he emerged from his study to find out what all the noise was. Bobby didn’t speak, he just followed Sam and they froze in horror when they saw Dean sitting in the driver’s seat of the Impala, the door wide open, with a revolver in his hand.

“Dean, don’t!” Sam screamed as Bobby’s hand caught his arm to prevent from getting closer.

“We don’t wanna startle him,” Bobby hissed and Sam nodded in response.

“This was dad’s, he hid it under the driver’s seat, his spare,” Dean intoned, his voice flat. He opened the door and climbed out of the car. “Wasn’t sure it would still be there. You know I wanted to kill myself when I found out how long I’d been in that…that place,” he continued his voice still flat and too calm, his eyes fixed on the revolver. “Countless men had fucked me and used me. But none of that hurt as bad as knowing what you did.”

“Dean, I’m sorry, please don’t do anything stupid!” Sam pleaded.

“I won’t,” Dean’s tear-filled eyes looked at Sam; “Dad died to save us and he wouldn’t want me to kill myself; but I don’t know how I’m supposed to live with myself.”

“Come back inside, Dean,” Bobby coaxed, “we can deal with this together, you’re not alone.”

“I need to speak to Sam,” Dean whispered.

“Then come inside and speak to him,” Bobby tried again, glancing anxiously from one distressed brother to the other.

Dean sighed as he pushed the revolver into the back of his jeans; “okay.”

Bobby looked relieved, waiting until both Dean and Sam had started back towards the house before following behind them. Dean got as far as the steps then fell to his knees, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably.

“Oh Dean,” Bobby groaned sadly, joining him on the ground and pulling him into his strong arms.

Sam stood beside them, wanting to pull the gun from Dean’s waistband and blow his own brains out, but he knew that wouldn’t help Dean. Nothing he could do would help Dean, except leaving.

“Don’t just stand there ya idjit,” Bobby grumbled; “help me get him inside, he’s freezing.”

It wasn’t a cold night, so Sam guessed Dean was in shock. He wondered how much more grief and despair Dean’s heart and mind could take.

Sam and Bobby pulled Dean to his feet between them, and it was a sign of his distress that he didn’t object to Sam touching him. They half-carried, half-dragged him back inside and lowered him down onto the sofa. Bobby swiftly removed the revolver from Dean’s waistband as Dean collapsed face down onto the comfy old cushions and buried his face in his arms. He lay sobbing for several minutes while Sam watched him forlornly. Sam wasn’t even aware that Bobby had left the room until he appeared with three large glasses of whisky.

“Right, enough with the drama,” he declared; “Sam, you sit down there,” he indicated the armchair. “Dean, sit up and take this.” Dean either didn’t hear him or just couldn’t stop sobbing. “Dean,” Bobby repeated more firmly; “sit up and drink this, now.”

Dean responded to the clear command, raising himself to a sitting position and taking the whisky from Bobby, grasping it with both hands and sipping it slowly.

“Okay, I get that all this is hard; the worst fuckin’ thing imaginable, but you both gotta get your shit together. Yer daddy died to save you, both of you, from that yellow-eyed bastard. Sam you couldn’t help what you did, you were his victim as much as Dean. You can’t let him win; you can’t let him ruin your lives.”

“I should’ve been stronger,” Sam responded, not really taking in what Bobby was saying as he gazed at the amber liquid in his glass; “I was too weak.”

“You both have to move on, leave all this trauma behind you; I know it’s not that easy…” Bobby sighed wearily.

“I’m going to carry it with me forever,” Sam declared bitterly; “I don’t deserve to move on, I need to live with what I did.”

“Sammy,” Dean looked over at him for the first time, his bright green eyes showing his concern for his brother, “you…you need to forgive yourself.”

“I can’t, Dean,” Sam whispered; then added hopefully, “not unless…can you forgive me?”

“I can’t,” Dean moaned, taking a swig of his whisky before adding, “maybe…maybe I’ll be able to forgive you in time, but I’ll never be able to forget.” He paused, his hands shaking so badly that the whisky sloshed over them. Bobby gently removed the glass from Dean, who now rubbed his hands on his thighs nervously. He continued; “what you did to me, what you did to those people….holy shit, Sammy. I know it wasn’t your fault, but after what you told me, I can’t shake the feeling that this…this evil was in you all along, and the demon just helped you to let it all out…fuck,” Dean clutched at his head.

“Dean, hey, are you okay?” Sam asked in concern and Dean looked at him with fear in his eyes. Sam hated himself even more at that moment.

“That’s enough now,” Bobby growled; “it’s getting’ late and Dean needs to rest.”

Sam stood up, announcing; “I’m gonna go, find a motel. I can’t stay…not now… not after…” He expected Bobby or Dean to tell him to stay, but neither of them did. It hurt like a knife in his heart, yet he knew it was what he deserved.

“Sam,” Dean whispered, “take care of yourself,”

“I will. Um, look after each other,” Sam mumbled, unable to look at either Dean or Bobby.

He almost ran out of the room, blinded by tears as he quickly retrieved his duffel from the bedroom. He could feel a vice tightening around his chest all the time that he fumbled at the door handle but suddenly Bobby was there, opening the door for him, taking his arm firmly in his hand and helping him to the car.

“Hell, kid, I hate what ya did, but I still care about ya,” Bobby growled, “you get into any kinda trouble you call me, ya hear?”

Sam nodded, wiping his eyes with his hand. “Thanks, Bobby. Take care of him for me.”

“You know I will.” Bobby smiled sadly at him, and Sam saw unshed tears in his eyes too.

Sam drove away, knowing that Dean would be safe in Bobby’s rough but caring hands.


	22. Brothel Boy - Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four months after John's death, Sam returns to Sioux Falls to a warm welcome from Bobby and a mixed reaction from Dean. Can they still be brothers after all that happened, can Dean make a good life for himself after his ordeal, and can Sam come to terms with what he did to Dean?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't leave this story without returning to see how Sam and Dean are coping in the months following John's death and Dean's realization of what Sam did to him. I am sorry to say goodbye to this incarnation of Sam, Dean and Bobby as they've been with me for many months now! 
> 
> I just want to say a HUGE thanks to my marvelous betas, somersault_j and dizzojay, who have corrected my mistakes, helped me with sentences and paragraphs that didn't 'feel' right, and supported me through all 22 chapters! I couldn't have got this far without them, thanks SO much ladies!
> 
> And finally to everyone who has followed this story and posted comments and/or left kudos, THANK YOU ALL VERY MUCH, it means the world to me that you like my story.

“Sam! It’s good to see ya, boy!” Bobby welcomed him with a smile and a bear hug.

“Thanks Bobby, I doubt Dean will feel the same.” Sam replied ruefully. It was almost Thanksgiving and Sam had initially declined Bobby’s invitation to visit; however, he’d just finished a job nearby so had decided to call in. It was four months since he had left, and he hadn’t seen or even spoken to Dean in that time, although he spoke to Bobby regularly.

“He’ll be okay,” Bobby replied, although he didn’t sound sure. “Come on through, he’s fixing supper.”

Sam followed Bobby into the house but he hesitated. “Um, Bobby how’s he doing? Really?”

“Well, he has good days and bad days,” Bobby sighed. “He don’t like leaving the yard, hates being around strangers, but he’s happy enough working on the cars an’ helping out with research.”

Sam didn’t know what to say; his brother’s world had narrowed down to Bobby’s house and the salvage yard and that was dreadful. Just then Sam heard the sound of slightly off-key singing coming from the kitchen and glanced at Bobby.

“He likes to sing along to the radio when he cooks,” Bobby informed him with a smile, “luckily he cooks better’n he sings.”

Sam smiled back, listening to Dean’s voice as he sang along loudly to “Born to Be Wild.”

“C’mon,” Bobby coaxed Sam to follow him, shouting out; “hey there, Steppenwolf, we got company.”

Sam could see Dean standing at the sink, his back towards them, and the way it stiffened at Bobby’s voice. He turned around, his hands dripping wet; his welcoming smile disappeared when he saw Sam.

“Holy shit,” Dean whispered, his expressive face showing confusing emotions of fear, disgust, relief, even joy, “Sam.”

“It’s good to see you, Dean,” Sam responded, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“You…you cut your hair,” Dean observed, and Sam waited for him to make some quip about him still looking like a big girl, but none came.

He touched his short hair self-consciously “Yeah, um, seemed time for a change.”

“An’ you’re still wanted in connection with The Brothel killings,” Bobby added, “just as well to change your look; the face fungus suits you too. Makes you look older.”

“Yeah, well, I feel pretty old!” Sam managed a smile. He had almost forgotten about his beard; it had grown pretty long recently.

“Can you stretch the food for three, Dean?” Bobby asked, and Sam knew it was Bobby’s way of asking Dean if Sam could stay.

“I guess,” Dean looked flustered; “I was just, um, just washing some lettuce.”

“Lettuce?” Sam teased, “I didn’t think you knew what that was.”

Dean didn’t react to Sam’s teasing; he just turned back round, lifting the lettuce out of the sink into a drainer on the worktop.

“Wait ‘til you try Dean’s burgers, they’re outta this world,” Bobby stated, breaking the silence.

“I think Sam probably wants to go and freshen up, Bobby,” Dean retorted, not looking at them.

“Um, yeah, sure,” Sam replied, backing out of the kitchen.

Bobby was right behind him, catching Sam’s elbow to halt him. “Just give him five minutes, would ya? He just needs to get his head round you being here, that’s all.”

“I should just go, I don’t wanna upset him.” Sam muttered, feeling sad and guilty.

“Look, if he didn’t want ya here, he’d soon tell ya,” Bobby replied, “just give him a little time.”

Sam nodded and headed to the bathroom. He sat on the edge of the bath, wondering why the hell he had bothered to come; all it would achieve would be to stir up bad memories they were trying to keep hidden. After a few minutes, Sam washed his face, avoiding the mirror. He didn’t recognize the gaunt, bearded face that looked back at him these days.

When he returned to the kitchen, the smell of fried onions made his stomach rumble and his mouth water. He couldn’t remember if he’d eaten today; some days he just plain forgot. Dean was flipping burgers in a large frying pan and Bobby was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a newspaper.

“Um, can I help?” Sam offered from the doorway.

Dean’s back stiffened once more, but he glanced around at Sam. “No, I’m good, thanks.”

“Come and sit down, boy,” Bobby motioned the chair next to him with his hand. “Dean’s got it all under control.”

Sam sat down, seeing that Dean certainly did have it all under control. On the worktop were three plates, each had a large open burger bun sitting on it, with lettuce, tomato and mayo piled on one half. Sam watched as Dean finished off cooking the burgers, added one to the bun on each plate and piled fried onions on top. He flipped the halves together, and then got a tray of potato skins out of the oven.

Sam was going to get up and help Dean with the plates but Bobby caught his eye and shook his head, so he stayed put. Dean placed the three plates on the table, with the potato skins and some sweetcorn relish in the center. Then he retrieved three cold beers from the fridge before joining them at the table.

“Wow, Dean, this looks incredible,” Sam praised him sincerely.

“It’s just a burger,” Dean mumbled; “no need to patronize me.”

“I wasn’t patronizing you, I meant it,” Sam retorted. “If it tastes like shit, I’ll let you know.”

Dean looked at Sam for the first time since he had sat down and Sam could see a tiny glimpse of a smile on his face. “Gee, thanks,” he replied sarcastically.

“You’re welcome!” Sam grinned, and Dean looked like he was going to give Sam a smile in return, but he looked down at his plate instead.

They all helped themselves to potato skins and relish; then Sam picked up his burger and bit into it. He had never been a fan of burgers, not like Dean, but this was absolutely delicious. It was succulent and thick, perfectly cooked with a hint of something spicy too.

“M’not being patronizing Dean, just gotta say this is fan-fucking-tastic,” Sam mumbled around his second bite.

Dean’s head was still bent down towards his plate but Sam was sure he saw a proud smile there.

“I tell ya, kid, I think I’ve put on at least twenty pounds since Dean’s been cooking,” Bobby grumbled; “I’m gonna have to start doin’ weights or running or some other shit.”

“I told you, you can run with me,” Dean offered, finally looking up; “I’ll even slow down for you.”

“You’d have to slow down to a fuckin’ crawl, kid,” Bobby chuckled; “but thanks for the offer.”

“Where d’you run?” Sam asked, recalling that Bobby had said Dean never left the yard.

“Just…just around the perimeter.” Dean glanced at Sam, then back at Bobby. “I guess you told him I don’t go outside.”

“Yeah, he did,” Sam confessed, “but I thought you might at least run down the lane.”

“Well, I don’t,” Dean muttered, looking a little angry now.

“So, Sam, how did that vengeful spirit go down?” Bobby asked, clearly changing the subject.

“Um, well, you were right,” Sam replied, grateful to move onto a safer subject; “burning the bones didn’t work, then I found some of the girl’s hair in a keepsake box; I think it was from when she was a baby. Her mother had forgotten about it.”

“So you got rid of it?” Bobby enquired.

“Yeah; I was too late to save the dad,” Sam sighed, “but the mom and the other kids are fine.”

“You did good, Sam,” Bobby praised him.

“Not good enough, but thanks,” Sam smiled ruefully.

“You should team up with another hunter,” Bobby suggested, “someone to watch your back.”

“I’m okay, Bobby,” Sam reassured him, “I’ve helped a couple of other hunters - I did a ‘shifter job with Caleb and teamed up with a skinny dude called Garth on a vamp hunt, but I prefer working alone.”

Dean was sitting quietly, his food untouched, looking up once or twice as Sam and Bobby spoke about Sam’s recent hunts. Eventually, he excused himself, saying he had a headache and would be having an early night. Sam was disappointed but at least Dean hadn’t told him to leave.

The next day it was obvious that Dean wasn’t comfortable being alone with Sam. He followed Bobby whenever he left the room, rather than be left with Sam. When Bobby told them he was heading into town to get some supplies, Dean insisted on going too, leaving Sam behind. When they returned and had unpacked, Dean quickly exited the kitchen after Bobby.

“Dean,” he called after his brother, but Dean didn’t look around, so Sam followed him outside. “Hey, Dean, don’t keep avoiding me. I promised you I’d never hurt you again, and I’m not gonna jump your bones the moment we’re alone.”

Dean looked like he was going to cry, but managed to rein in his tears. “I’m trying, trying real hard to be around you, like…like it’s all normal,” Dean confessed, “an’ I’m sorry I can’t do it, I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel bad.”

“Hell, Dean, you’re doing it again!” Sam yelled, hating that Dean was once again taking the blame for something that wasn’t his fault; “don’t you apologize to me Dean – you can hate me, hit me, scream at me - but don’t you ever fucking apologize to me!”

Dean started crying then and ran into the house, locking himself in his room. Sam left later that day, telling Bobby it was better for Dean if he wasn’t around and that he would keep in touch.

Sam threw himself back into hunting; it was his life now, the life he had chosen. Saving people, hunting things, trying to forget all the awful things he had done, trying to make up for it all. Yet whatever he did, no matter how many people he saved, he couldn’t fill the hole inside him.

 

Sam lay on his side, his head propped up on his hand, watching Dean sleep. He looked so young when he slept, like the little carefree boy he had never had a chance to be. His long eyelashes fanned his cheeks and his perfect lips were slightly parted. Dean started to move restlessly and opened one eye with a groan.

“Sammy, I told ya to quit watchin’ me sleep,” he muttered, “it’s fucking creepy.”

“I only do it ‘cause you’re so fucking pretty,” Sam teased and lowered his head to kiss Dean.

Dean grabbed the back of Sam’s head and held him by the hair as they kissed, slowly and tenderly at first then with growing passion. Sam slid his body on top of Dean’s and groaned in pleasure as he felt his hard, warm, eager body against his, and he could feel how hard Dean’s dick was already.

Sam broke away to pepper kisses along Dean’s jaw, then down his neck to his shoulders and his chest. Dean’s hand was still entwined in Sam’s long hair and he guided Sam’s mouth towards his right nipple. Sam sucked the nipple and caressed the other one with his fingertips as Dean moaned in ecstasy below him. By the time Sam had finished with Dean’s nipples, they were both rock hard and Dean was panting heavily. 

Sam stared down at Dean, his green eyes were wide and wild, and he murmured “fuck me, Sammy, want you inside me.”

Sam smiled and moved down Dean’s body until he was between his legs. He lifted them up and Dean placed his hands behind his knees, holding himself open. Sam slid his finger inside Dean, his hole opening easily around one finger and then two. Sam scissored his fingers and Dean cried out, his hips bucking and pre-come leaking from his dick.

“Hold on, Dean, I’m gonna take care of you,” Sam whispered as he removed his fingers and replaced them with the tip of his dick. It only took a few thrusts before he was deep inside his brother, and he knew they were both so close. He ran a fingertip gently over Dean’s dick and that was all it took; he came with a scream, covering Sam’s hand and his own stomach, with Sam following shortly after.

Sam pulled out and flopped down beside Dean, hauling him onto his chest and stroking his short, sweaty hair tenderly.

“I love you so much, Dean,” Sam crooned, “I thought I’d lost this, I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m right here, Sammy,” Dean nuzzled against his chest, “I’ll always be here; I love you too.”

Sam’s heart raced and hot tears started to fall; he was so grateful that Dean had forgiven him, that Dean still wanted him. They would be together like this now, forever.

Dean was murmuring words of love and comfort, but an annoying beeping sound drowned them out. Sam tried to ignore it and concentrate on Dean but it grew louder and more insistent.

He reached out to grab his cell phone and when he flopped back onto the pillow, Dean was gone. Sam sighed and sat up, running his hands over his shaved head. He was alone in a dingy motel room in Denver. The only parts of the dream that had been real were his orgasm and his tears. At least this dream had ended happily, unlike most of the others, in which they were joined by demons or Dean was screaming words of hatred at him, or pleading with Sam to help him... 

He wiped his wet face with the sheet and focused on the message on his cell. It was from Bobby, asking him to phone back as soon as he could.

“Shit!” Sam cursed, already frantic with worry that something was wrong with Dean.

“Bobby? What’s wrong?” he blurted out as soon as Bobby answered.

“Hold yer horses, Sam, ain’t nothing wrong,” Bobby replied; “I was just ringing to remind you about next week.”

“Oh, right, okay,” Sam sighed in relief, “I thought…no, never mind.”

“Dean’s fine,” Bobby answered the unspoken question. “He’s out working on a ’64 Chevy convertible right now, happy as a pig in shit.”

“That’s great,” Sam replied, unable to keep the smile from his face at the image of Dean elbow-deep in grease as he tinkered around. “I haven’t forgotten, Bobby, I’ll be there.”

Once he had said goodbye to Bobby, he showered, dressed and left the motel room, heading to the diner next door to grab a coffee, and some food, as he had promised Bobby that he would have breakfast before he set off. It was too easy to forget to eat, too easy to try to fill the void with coffee and alcohol.

 

The following week found him driving towards Sioux Falls, feeling both anxious and a little excited. Tomorrow would be a year since his dad’s death and he had given in to the repeated requests from Bobby to attend a small gathering of friends to mark the anniversary. He hadn’t seen Dean in months, not since his less than successful visit at Thanksgiving. He still spoke to Bobby regularly about hunts and always asked after Dean, but he had only spoken to his brother twice, when Dean had answered the phone while Bobby was out.

Sam stopped the car when he saw the new sign hanging over the entrance to Bobby’s yard.

“Singer and Winchester’s Salvage Yard and Classic Car Restoration” 

Sam wiped away the hot tears of pride and joy that had welled up. Sure, he knew Dean had started restoring classic cars and had built up a good reputation, but seeing the sign made it real. Dean really was okay, he was doing well, and he had made a new life for himself.A truck pulled up beside his car and he smiled when he glanced over and saw Bobby.

“What d’ya think?” Bobby called from his open window. Sam got out of his car to walk over to the man that was more his family than just a friend now.

“It looks great, Bobby,” Sam grinned, hoping Bobby hadn’t noticed his tears and knowing Bobby would be too discrete to mention them if he had. “He’s really doing okay, then?”

“Better’n I hoped,” Bobby replied proudly. “He still don’t like meeting strangers much, but as long as I’m around he deals with customers just fine. An’ he’s doin’ a great job.”

“Does he ever leave the yard?” Sam enquired.

“Not much,” Bobby sighed; “he comes over to the Roadhouse with me sometimes to visit with Ellen and Jo, but only in the mornings when it’s practically empty.”

“Well, I guess that’s something,” Sam glanced towards the house.

“How you doin’, kid?” Bobby asked. “You’re still too god-damned skinny.”

“Then you better fatten me up while I’m around!” Sam retorted, deflecting the conversation. “I’ll follow you in,” he added as he walked back to his car.

Dean was waiting for them, sitting on the porch steps with three open bottles of beer on the step next to him. He didn’t get up when Sam approached the steps but he held out a beer for him, welcoming him with, “good to see you, Sam.”

“You too, Dean, cheers,” Sam nodded and smiled as he took the beer. Dean looked well; he was tanned and his freckles had multiplied across his nose and cheeks. His hair was short and flecked with blond from the sun. His arms were more muscular than Sam remembered.  
Sam wanted to just stare at Dean, drink in every inch of him, then gather him up into his arms, but he knew he couldn’t do any of those things, so he sat down next to Dean.

“You’re still sportin’ the convict look, I see,” Dean remarked, glancing at his head.

“Yeah, easier to manage,” Sam chuckled.

“You always were a lazy little shit. Not so little now, though,” Dean retorted, smiling. Then he added, “I heard about the ‘shifter job; you did real good, Sammy.”

“Um, thanks,” Sam mumbled, swallowing down a sob that threatened to escape. Dean was so much more like he was before his time at The Brothel that Sam felt overwhelmed with relief and love. And he had called him Sammy.

Dean showed Sam around the area of the yard that was now dedicated to the restoration of classic cars. He was still working on the ’64 Chevy - “it’s a labor of love, Sammy, it can’t be rushed” – and there were four more cars waiting to be restored to their former glory. He set Sam to washing the cars and they ended up having a water fight. Sam couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed so much or had actually been happy, and seeing Dean laughing made him very happy.

The evening passed quickly, Dean teased and laughed with Sam, while Bobby rolled his eyes at them both, but he looked incredibly happy and proud of his boys.

Pastor Jim, Caleb and Garth arrived the next morning, followed by Ellen and Jo, who were accompanied by a scrawny looking guy sporting a greasy mullet. Jo introduced him as Ash, saying he had turned up at The Roadhouse one day and never left. After chatting to Ash for a while, Sam discovered that he was an intelligent guy, and that they shared a passion for research.

The weather was good, so they had set up tables outside and their guests had all brought some kind of food with them. Dean had prepared a huge potato salad and a plateful of cold cooked chicken. Soon the table was covered in delicious food and they all sat down for lunch.  
Before they started, Bobby toasted John and they stood up, echoing “to John”, while Sam and Dean said “to Dad”.

As they ate, Sam watched Dean closely, amazed at how happy and relaxed he seemed. He had thought Dean would be anxious or withdrawn, but he was talking animatedly to Jo, who was sitting next to him and she was laughing at something he had said, her hand resting on his arm. 

Sam felt a pang of envy as he realized Dean and Jo were flirting. He could hardly remember Jo, they had been kids the last time he had seen her. She had grown from a skinny little tomboy to a lovely young woman; her blond hair fell down past her shoulders, her smile was beautiful and her big brown eyes were sparkling as she laughed at Dean.

“She’s a great gal,” Bobby whispered, leaning closer to Sam, “she’s really helped Dean to come out of his shell. He was much keener to call in at The Roadhouse once he’d got reacquainted with her.”

“They…they look happy together,” Sam admitted, hoping he was hiding his jealousy.

“They ain’t gone past flirtin’ around yet,” Bobby confided; “he’s holding back, thinks he’s a freak an’ that she’s too good for him.”

“She’d be lucky to have him,” Sam murmured, stopping himself from adding, ‘he’s so beautiful’.

Bobby chuckled, “very true. Good to see him so happy though, ain’t it?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, smiling too now, “he deserves to be happy.”

After lunch they walked over to the simple wooden cross that marked the place where John was laid to rest. Pastor Jim read a passage from the Bible, and then asked if anyone wanted to say a few words about John.

Bobby started, with a gruff “you were a damned fine hunter, a good father, a good friend and the most stubborn son-of-a-bitch I ever knew.”  
Everyone chuckled at that and Sam saw Ellen surreptitiously wiping her eyes.

Then to Sam’s surprise, Dean spoke. “Hey, dad, just want to say thanks for everything, I know it wasn’t easy on you bringing up two kids alone, but you did it. We didn’t have a house or the latest clothes or go on vacation, but we always had each other.” Dean smiled across at Sam, then continued; “you taught us the importance of love, family, loyalty, integrity and courage. You left us a legacy that I’m proud to say Sammy is carrying on – saving people, hunting evil; and you left another legacy that I’m proud to continue – a love of classic cars and classic rock!”

There was another ripple of laughter, but Sam couldn’t join in. He was close to tears and was concentrating on not crying like a damned fool while his brother was being so strong.

“You died doing what you set out to do – killing the evil bastard that took our mom from us, and saving us from him too. We love you, dad, we miss you, and we’ll always try to make you proud of us.” He looked straight at Sam, almost for affirmation and Sam nodded at him, tears now streaming down his face. Dean walked over to him and they hugged, holding each other tightly.

As they walked back to the house a little later, Sam fell into step next to Dean.

“What you said, it was perfect,” he sighed. “Dad would be so proud of you; and he’d approve of Jo.”

“Jo?” Dean stopped walking to look at Sam, looking puzzled. “We’re just friends.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam grinned, “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other.”

Dean actually blushed, which made him look adorable. “Damn, Sammy, I like her, I do, an’ she says she likes me; but I’m no good for her, I’m a fucking wreck. I’ve told her that, but she won’t take no for an answer.”

“So she’s persistent and smart, as well as pretty,” Sam smirked. There was still a little jealousy in his heart, but it was overshadowed by his happiness for Dean. “Don’t let her get away.”

Dean grinned, one of his huge smiles that lit up his face and created crinkles around his eyes. He looked so beautiful and so full of life. It was more than Sam had ever hoped; Dean was doing a job he loved, he was content with his life, and he had found a special someone.

Sam knew he would never be able to settle down like Dean had; he still had so much to atone for and would keep on hunting for the rest of his days. It was going to be a hard and lonely road, but he was okay with that.

“It’s early days, Sammy, but I’m kinda hoping she sticks around,” Dean confided.

“Me too, Dean, me too,” Sam replied sincerely.

 

The End


End file.
